


Coffee and Comics

by mmouse15



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/pseuds/mmouse15
Summary: A coffee shop AU that's not about coffee, but about writing and life, and how a person's value system influences the choices they make. It just so happens to (mostly) take place in a coffee shop.





	1. The Beginning of it All

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: I was very fortunate to be chosen by an amazing artist, [Izulkowa](http://izulkowa.tumblr.com/), who asked me great questions that made the story better. Thank you. Her art is [here](http://izulkowa.tumblr.com/post/164379464271/a-coffee-shop-au-thats-not-about-coffee-but). I was also blessed to have a fantastic beta, [HunterPeverell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell), who, in addition to correcting my overly enthusiastic use of commas, functioned as a sounding board for ideas and made sure that I resolved all my subplots along with the main plot of this story. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
> 
> Thank you to the mods of the 2017 Stucky Big Bang, and to all the writers on the Slack channels that sprinted with me and kept me going. What a great group of people this was, and I feel fortunate to be associated even in a small way with such amazing people. The Stucky fandom is supportive as all get out. Thank you.

Bucky came to a stop before the door of the shop Natasha had mentioned. There were five bike racks on the sidewalk in front and enough spaces left for him to lock his bike. Pleased, he swung his bag over his shoulder and pushed open the door.

It had once been some kind of industrial building, repurposed into a modern space. On one side were repair stands for bikes, rolling racks of tools, and bike supplies such as tubes, spokes, and chains for sale. Not a complete bike shop, but a space for an apartment or dorm dweller to do his or her own bike repairs.

On the other side…

Sweet Nirvana. The smell of coffee, long tables with electrical outlets running down the center, squashy armchairs with larger end tables between them, also with electrical outlets, and small tables sized for two or four people. Students were scattered throughout the space, laptops humming and stacks of books and notes scattered about.

Bucky breathed deep and moved to the counter. He ordered a plain latte and, after receiving his drink, looked around for a place to sit.

There was a perfect space for him at one of the long tables, and he wended his way to it, slinging his bag onto the table before setting his coffee down. Flipping open the flap of his bag, Bucky pulled out his tablet and charge cord, plugging both in before pulling out his notebook. He sat down and pulled his notebook toward him, setting it where he could see it. He tapped his tablet, waking it up, and opened his word processor. Writing a comic was, in some ways, easy work. In other ways, it was difficult. Actions had to be easy to draw while exposition had to be kept to a minimum. Almost every issue needed a splash page, where the action peaked and the artist had room to draw a detailed character study. All this meant that Bucky often had to work with clichés and other simple concepts to get the ideas of his storyline across, but he enjoyed the challenge of making the story fresh and interesting despite that.

He had a year's contract to do a storyline for HYDRA, one of Dark Line's newer runs, and he was excited. There were two issues left in the original writer's contract, but he was suffering from ill-health and had suggested Bucky as a replacement. Nick lived in Bucky's apartment building and, for some reason Bucky didn't understand, had taken a liking to Bucky. Nick had shared his outlines and scripts for the next issues, and was available for Bucky to brainstorm with and ask questions, so Bucky felt pretty confident that he could do this. At the very least, he didn't want to let Nick down after the older man had befriended a lonely, messed-up guy that just needed a break.

Taking a deep breath, then slowly releasing it, he started typing his first thoughts. Johann Schmidt was the main character, a man that had, at first, been a force for change, and for the betterment of his people. Gradually, however, Nick had guided the storyline so that Schmidt lost sight of his goodness, and was pursuing his goals not for good, but for the responsibility and power he was acquiring as he climbed the ladder to success. Bucky wasn't sure if his ideas would work, but he wanted to try. He opened the email app and fired off a quick message.

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: Schmidt

Hey, guys, I'm the new writer, taking over from Nick. I was thinking that you and Nick had taken Johann as far as he could go without introducing a new and different conflict to the story. What do you guys think of introducing a new character, someone who opposes Schmidt and highlights how far from his original path he's strayed?

~JBB

Bucky began typing a list of the attributes he wanted the new character to have. He should have many of the same traits Schmidt had, such as stubbornness, dedication to the cause he espoused, determination, a strong value system, and a willingness to do anything he asked his men to do. Also exposure to the same experimental drugs Johann had used on himself. What made him different from Schmidt was his interpretation of the values. In other words, if this guy had made different choices, he'd be Schmidt's partner instead of his opponent. He ran his fingers through his hair as he thought. Biting his lip, he opened up the email program and began to type with one hand while sipping his coffee with the other.

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: re: Schmidt

I think it's a good idea, but you do need to remember that Schmidt is the hero of this particular story, not the other guy. What do you want to call him?

~SGR

Bucky grinned to himself and replied.

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: Schmidt

Everyone is the hero of their own story, right? Yeah, I won't forget that. I just think Johann has gone so far from where he started, and because the readership has gone on the journey with him, they don't realize how far he's strayed, and bringing in a new character will highlight that.

I have no idea what to call him.

~JBB

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, SGRogers@darkline.com  
From: CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: re: Schmidt

Call him Sarge. Not too high a rank, but still someone who commands others.

~clint

Bucky grinned. Sarge was a perfect name. He nodded at his tablet and looked up.

The guy across from him was looking right at him and asked, "Good news?"

Bucky's grin widened and he answered, "Yeah, someone just helped me get over a big stumbling block."

"Good for you," The guy replied, then returned his attention to his laptop and drawing tablet.

Bucky let his gaze linger for a few seconds. The guy had a deeper voice than he'd expected from such a small chest, for the man was tiny. Perhaps only five two when standing with blonde hair, blue eyes covered in glasses, and a scabbed over cut on his chin, Bucky had been expecting a much high voice. Intrigued, he risked another quick glance, noting that one shoulder was slightly higher than the other, but he was whipcord lean, with long fingers wrapped around his stylus. Bucky tore his gaze away and focused on his little keyboard. This guy was just his type, the deep voice sending a thrill down his spine. That he was good-looking didn't hurt, but now was not the time for Bucky to get distracted by trying for a romance. He had to focus on his work.

Bucky began typing the outline of Schmidt and Sarge's first meeting, working quickly to get key phrases down before he forgot them. Once the outline was done, he'd share with the team and see if they had any changes to make. Then he'd write the script. It would first go to Rogers to do the lines and letters, then Barton would do the colors. Nick had put together a great team, and Bucky wanted to respect the precedent Nick had set in including everyone in every stage of the process.

Bucky finished the outline and sent it off, then started the script.

The easiest way to introduce Sarge was to have him at the last battle Schmidt's forces had against the enemy, and have him be the last man standing. Again, cliché, but it worked for visual media much better than for written. Sarge would be captured and brought before Schmidt. Bucky needed to check in on the idea.

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: re: re: Schmidt

I would like to modify Nick's last issue to include Sarge, have him be the last man standing in the battle. Would that be possible?

~JBB

Bucky hit send and focused back onto the script. He worked quickly, the story pouring out of him. His fingers flew across the keyboard and when he finally stopped typing, the guy across from him was looking at him. Bucky felt a thrill as he met that gaze, and silently told his libido to quiet down.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Must have been a hell of a stumbling block if the removal makes you type that fast," the guy replied, a crooked grin spreading across his face. That smile did things to Bucky's pulse, and he swallowed before responding.

Bucky chuckled softly. "It was a very big block, and I'm glad to get it out of the way. How are you on this fine day?"

The guy also laughed and answered, "I'm good. I was worried, because my team got a new guy on it, but I think he's going to work out really well. He's got good ideas and isn't afraid to voice them."

"Sounds good, man, I hope it works out for you," Bucky replied, deliberately tearing his gaze away and looking down at his notebook before sneaking a quick peek back at the guy.

"Thanks, you, too." The blond guy looked down at his laptop and grimaced before laying his stylus down and clicking on his trackpad. He frowned at the screen, but then grinned and started typing.

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: New storyline

So, if Sarge is going to be the last man standing, should I redraw the last panel to include him? I just need to do the one panel, Clint, don't have a heart attack.

~SGR

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, SGRogers@darkline.com  
From: CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: re: New storyline

I don't have heart attacks, man. I can easily redo one panel, but as it happens, I haven't gotten to that last page yet.

~clint

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: New storyline

Clint, glad you're not prone to heart attacks. Should we check with Nick? If he's okay with it, then yes, if it isn't too much trouble, let's include Sarge in that last panel.

~JBB

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: Nick

Already checked with him, he's cool with whatever we need to make the new storyline work.

~SGR

Bucky continued working, stealing glances at the guy across from him every now and again. His phone dinged with the message tone from his sister, Becky.

Becks: Dad just got laid off.  
                                                         Shit. How are he and Mom?: me  
Becks: Mom just got another job.  
                                                         That makes three jobs for her: me  
Becks: Yeah, it does. Dad's job hunting right now.  
                                                         How are you doing?: me  
Becks: Actually good. I just got a job offer.  
                                                         That's awesome, Becky!: me  
Becks: Yeah. Also, I'm moving. This hell hole is too far away - an hour's commute!  
                                                         Well, that sucks.: me  
Becks: Yeah, so my new company has rent assistance, yay, and so I'm moving next week.  
                                                         Have you told Mom & Dad yet?: me  
Becks: I will on Sunday, at family dinner.  
                                                         Are we still having that?: me  
Becks: Mom insists.  
                                                         All right, then. Gotta go.: me  
Becks: Later, Bucky.  
                                                         Love you, Becks: me

Bucky put his phone away and packed up his gear.

"Leaving?" asked guy across from him. Bucky needed a better name for him and soon.

"Yeah, I've got, uh, other things to do," Bucky replied.

"Well, maybe I'll see you again."

"I hope so. Um, I'm Bucky," Bucky said.

"Steve. I'm here most mornings. It's a good place to work."

"Yeah, it is. Nice to meet you, Steve. See you tomorrow?" Bucky slung his bag over his head and settled it against his hip.

"Definitely. Good luck with the other things," Steve replied.

"Adulting. It sucks, but gotta do it," Bucky told him.

Steve laughed and waved good-bye as Bucky headed to the door.

~~~~

Their publisher had not liked the idea of introducing a foil to Schmidt, but Nick was having a good day, he told Bucky, and had grabbed Bucky and dragged him down to Dark Line's offices to have a meeting with him the next morning. Bucky didn't like the the publisher very much, a man named Alexander Pierce, but Nick handled most of the meeting and afterwards, Bucky had grudging permission to proceed. Feeling validated, Bucky had made sure Nick arrived safely back at their building before continuing to the coffee shop. He opened the door and breathed in the aroma, feeling some part of him settle. He set up, got coffee, and began work.

Sarge led his men through the gap, where they were able to enfilade the opposing soldiers, rendering their powerful weapons useless. [panel]

Schmidt roared with frustration. "Who are these people?"

His second-in-command shrugged and answered, "I don't know, sir."

"Well, find out!" [One panel, SGR]

 

After that, Bucky went frequently to the coffee shop, which went by the name of Sharp Pressed. He became one of the regulars, along with a few other people with whom he developed a nodding relationship. The blond guy was Steve. There was a regular barista named Jane, another customer that went by Barney and seemed to be a perpetual klutz, a big bashful guy named Don that spent a lot of time working on bikes with people, and the owner of the coffee shop, Anthony. There were others for whom he didn't have names, but nodded to anyway. He felt more productive at the shop rather than in his apartment, where everything that wasn't done felt more important that this storyline. There was always cleaning, laundry, shows to watch, bills to pay, and other adult chores that Bucky would do instead of writing. So the coffee shop became his office of choice, a place where he could put on his headphones, attach to the free wi-fi, and write. There was also Steve, and he and Bucky set up a light flirtation that threatened to spill into a full blown crush for Bucky. The collaborative emails continued between him, SGR, and Clint. On the whole, Bucky was loving the coffee shop. Tune-ups for his bike, someone easy on the eyes, a great working atmosphere, and a creative collaboration that worked really well for him made Sharp Pressed his favorite place to be.

The story was quickly shaping up as well. Sarge was a stubborn ass, and Bucky loved his character.

"...what makes you so special, soldier boy?" Sneered Schmidt, frustrated by the willful man before him.

"Nothing, I'm just a guy," replied Sarge.

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: latest panels

Guys, I think we should pick a specific place Sarge is from. The 'I'm just a guy' line isn't ringing true.

~SGR

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: re: latest panels

Suggestions? I mean, who are people that are proud of where they're from like that? As a society, we've kind of gotten away from the provinciality that was the USA before WWII.

~JBB

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com  
From: CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: latest panels

True, but let's be real. Schmidt and Sarge ARE fighting in WWII. Yeah, we haven't explicitly stated that, but there's no war or conflict after that had the certainty of wrong vs right. So, pick a borough and run with that.

~clint

To: CFBarton@darkline.com, SGRogers@darkline.com  
From JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: re: latest panels

Borough?

~JBB

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: re: re: re: re: latest panels

New York City, JBB. Queens.

~SGR

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: NYC

Yeah, okay, but why Queens?

~JBB

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, SGRogers@darkline.com  
From: CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: re: NYC

Because the Bronx doesn't roll off the tongue, neither does Staten Island, Manhattan was the ritzy part of town, which leaves Brooklyn and Queens. I just like the sound of Queens.

~clint

Bucky sighed and rewrote the line to say Sarge was a guy from Queens. But he was fast running into a problem. How would he highlight the differences between Schmidt and Sarge? Schmidt would always put himself first. If a situation called for a sacrifice, Schmidt would send a minion, while Sarge would go himself. But how could he show that without killing off the new character? Also, he reminded himself, Sarge wasn't the hero of this story, Schmidt was. Bucky didn't understand why, but the publisher was very clear about that. He also was struggling with how to make someone a hero when their choices so clearly meant they were actually a villain. He drummed his pencil against the table, giving a counterbeat with his other hand and using the repetitive motion to focus himself before giving up. Frustrated, he closed his tablet and began to pack up.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Steve asked him.

Bucky sat back down and leaned across the table. Steve countered by leaning closer, too.

"How do you make the bad guy look like the good guy?"

Steve cocked his head and gave Bucky an odd look, "What, like in a story?"

"Yeah, like in a story. I mean, I get that he's the main character, but he's not a hero type by any stretch, and I'm supposed to make him be the hero," Bucky clenched his fingers in his hair.

"Hey, calm down. You do it by putting yourself in his place and spinning everything he's doing so that it makes him look better," Steve said.

Bucky shot him a look of despair and replied, "But he isn't."

"Then don't write him," Steve told him, leaning back.

Bucky gawped at him. Steve shrugged and went back to his laptop, and Bucky slowly gathered his stuff and packed up, heading back to his place. Right now, he needed mindless cleaning and laundry, to let his brain think through the dilemma and churn out a solution without driving Bucky insane.

~~~~

Three days later, when his apartment gleamed from a thorough cleaning and all his laundry was done, including area rugs, Bucky froze in place and grinned. Clint's comment about WWII had finally struck him with all the impact of a hammer to the head. He dropped the cloth he was using to oil the spare bedroom's chest of drawers on its top and capped the oil before heading to the bathroom to thoroughly wash his hands. He went to the couch and snagged his tablet, opening it and typing furiously.

Schmidt examined the factory floor below him. His people were carefully watching the workers, but they were not tense or overly concerned, and the assembly line was running smoothly. Nodding to himself, he left the railing and returned to his war room, where a large map was posted on the wall, showing the positions of his various laboratories and factories. At this rate, he would be able to put another factory to the west, and two or three more to the east, depending on how far the army's forces pushed the enemy. [three panels, one of the factory, one of the war room, last one with him placing new pins to show the new locations]

The doctor comes in and updates him on the factory workers. They are working hard, but starting to fail as the food supply is not enough to keep them in peak condition. Schmidt dismisses his concerns, pointing out that there will always be more workers and promising a fresh supply within the next week. The doctor bows and leaves [two panels? SGR, what do you think?]

Schmidt returns his attention to the map - fade to various battles interspersed with the red area on the map getting larger and larger after each battle scene.

Panel of exposition - Schmidt and the army are doing this to make room for their people, who are crowded between other countries that are not using their resources to the best purposes in Schmidt's opinion. Pushed into poorer land by the older countries, Schmidt and his people are fighting to get more room and better resources. Along the way, they hope to convert other countries to their way of thinking. [Analogy to the Nazis of Germany and the Facists of Italy here. In fact, can we make Schmidt German? Or Austrian? Can we take the vaguely Nazi look of the uniforms and change them to be closer? Also, slightly different colors, since they are not Nazis, but H.Y.D.R.A.]

The betterment of all peoples is the Schmidt's goal. He intends to do this by choosing a few select people and giving them the same drugs he had taken. Any man that didn't adhere to Schmidt's leadership and goals would be eliminated quickly. In this way, Schmidt hoped to build a group of leaders that would help him fulfill his destiny of bringing peace to the entire world through his leadership and vision.

Bucky sat back. He felt that he'd finally tapped into the Schmidt's mind and figured out his reasons for doing what he did. He sent his write-up to SGR and Clint and went to finish oiling his old chest of drawers.

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, SGRogers@darkline.com  
From: CFBarton@darkline.com  
Re: Schmidt

Damn, Barnes, that's really good. That makes everything make sense. Nice job.

~clint

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: SGRogers@darkline.com  
Re: re: Schmidt

I agree that it makes Johann makes sense, but given the current political climate, is it really a message we want to be sending? Do we really want to send the message to the racist, misogynistic, LGBTQ+ hating, privileged idiots that there is a protagonist that thinks like they do?

~SGR

To: SGRogers@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: JBBarnes@darkline.com  
Re: SGR!

Whatever you're thinking, don't do it.

~JBB

Bucky began rearranging his bookshelves for something to do, a feeling of deep dread hanging over him. When his notebook pinged with a new email, Bucky dropped his books and hastily opened his email app.

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com  
From: AGPierce@darkline.com  
Re: Steven G. Rogers

Gentlemen,  
Mr. Rogers no longer works for Dark Line. Cease all contact with him. A new line artist and letterist will be put on your team within the next couple of days.

-Pierce

Bucky sat back, stunned, rereading the email over and over.

"What just happened, Steve?" His question was unanswered in the empty apartment.


	2. Comics

When he stopped shaking, he went and knocked on Nick's door, but there was no answer. Back in his apartment, he Googled 'Clint Barton' and got a hit, just a couple of blocks over from his building. Shrugging to himself, he grabbed his jacket and headed over.

 

In the small foyer there were six buttons, each labeled with a name. Bucky pressed the one with Barton on it.

 

"Yeah?" came a tinny voice.

 

"JBBarnes to meet CFBarton," Bucky replied.

 

A long pause, then the buzz and click of the inner door unlocking. Bucky clambered up the stairs to the third floor, where a door was open and a guy was leaning against the frame.

 

"Barney?" Bucky asked. It was the guy from the coffee shop.

 

"Cover name. Real name is Clint, but I hate using it in public since...well, since," Barton replied.

 

"Okay. My name's Bucky," and he extended his hand. Clint grasped it firmly and shook it.

 

"C'mon in," Clint offered, standing back from the door. Bucky walked in, making his way into the apartment.

 

"So, I'm kind of upset about today, and I was hoping I could track someone down to talk to about it, and I'm also hoping you don't mind me just showing up," Bucky said, throwing himself on the couch. The table as cluttered with pizza boxes, old cups of coffee, and wooden dowels.

 

Clint grinned, "Nah, I don't mind. You're not the only one upset about what happened. Steve's good people, he didn't deserve that."

 

"Steve?"

 

"SGRogers, aka Steve."

 

"Oh," Bucky said. "I didn't know."

 

"Didn't figure you did," Clint replied, "but now that you're here, let's talk about this. Steve!"

 

"Oh, hi, Bucky, how are you?" a deep voice asked. Bucky’s eyes jumped to the doorway of the small kitchen where Steve--the same Steve from the coffee shop--stood with one hand on his hip, his brows furrowed in residual anger. 

 

"Oh," Bucky replied, standing up and feeling his neck flush as he took in Steve’s slight frame. 

"Uh, I'm JBBarnes." He reached out to Steve, who clasped his hand and gave it a shake before reluctantly letting it go. Bucky stared at Steve in a way he hadn't allowed himself to do before today.

 

Steve’s lips quirked in a smile. “I’d guessed. Well, this was … unexpected.”

 

“I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t guessed then,” Bucky said, feeling quite relieved and a bit foolish under Clint’s amused gaze.

 

Steve laughed, his cheeks flushing a bit. “Guess not.”

 

"So, how did you find me?" Clint asked, sprawling in a recliner that conformed to his body. It broke the spell between Bucky and Steve, causing Bucky to finally look away from Steve’s face, which was still tinged pink.

 

"You sign your emails 'clint', and your last name is in the email address. I Googled you," Bucky answered, sitting down on the end of the couch. He turned to Steve and asked, "What happened today?"

 

Steve shrugged, "I got in Pierce's face about pushing Nazism as a good thing, when it wasn't, it isn't, and having us show only the good means that young and impressionable people start normalizing the Nazi behaviors as right and proper. I was summarily kicked out on my ass."

 

Bucky gawped, "You...what?"

 

Steve grinned, "Doing the right thing is kind of a passion of mine."

 

"Or a craziness," came a deep voice from the hall.

 

"Nick!" Bucky exclaimed.

 

"Glad you're here, Barnes," Nick Fury said. "We have some work to do."

 

Bucky looked around the room and said, "I'm confused."

 

Clint laughed and gestured to the couch, "Have a sit, Barnes, and let me catch you up."

 

Bucky sat and looked around. Nick settled himself in a straight-backed chair, Steve tucked himself in the corner of the couch away from Bucky, and Clint hadn't moved from his place on the recliner.

 

"So, Pierce has been pushing for a while to make the extremist right position an attractive one to people and, since he runs a comic publishing company, he's using the titles to do that. Nick figured out what he was doing months ago and began to manufacture an illness. He suggested you as a replacement because he was sure you wouldn't go ahead with Pierce's agenda." Clint said.

 

"I won't," Bucky interjected.

 

"Good, and while you, me, and Steve have been continuing the work on  HYDRA , Nick's been setting up his own publishing company. Nick had a six month moratorium on working in the same industry for non-compete reasons, but he's only a month away from that and he's getting everything ready to go. Steve's firing is unfortunate in one regard--"

 

"I need to eat," Steve muttered.

 

"--but great in another. The three month non-competition clause we all signed doesn't apply if he's fired. So he can go to work for Nick right away."

 

"What's Nick going to do?" Bucky asked, looking over at the man.

 

"Make a hero that takes on Schmidt, which you've already started to do," Nick replied, "and make him the protagonist and Schmidt the antagonist."

 

"We can't use Schmidt," Bucky answered.

 

"No, so we need a new backstory and name, but the character is going to be awfully damned similar."

 

"So, you want to take Sarge, make him the hero of your story, and turn Schmidt into the bad guy, but not call him Schmidt?" Bucky wondered, thinking about the storylines he'd discarded because he knew Pierce wouldn't approve them.

 

"Yes…" Steve answered, trailing off. Bucky noticed Steve looking at him in his peripherals, his face creased with cautious uncertainty. "Bucky?"

 

"We can't use Sarge," Bucky thought aloud, shooting Steve what he hoped was a reassuring look, "because that belongs to Dark Line. We could bump up his rank, call him by that. Schmidt we take to the logical conclusion. The drugs he took gave him the physical aspects of his moral depravity. Hone away the excess flesh from his body, have his skin conform to his skeleton, make his face more of a skull…"

 

"Captain, called Cap, and The Skull," Clint interjected.

 

"...I like Cap, but the Skull is too plain. What happens if the drugs turned his skin red, and he's called Red Skull?"

 

"As a colorist, I love that idea," Clint answered.

 

Nick leaned back in his chair and said, "This, Barnes, is why I thought you'd fit with the team."

 

Bucky looked over at him and said, "Thanks, but Clint and I still work for Dark Line, and we haven't been fired like Steve was."

 

"You'll quit," Nick told him.

 

"Why?" Bucky asked.

 

"Because the new line artist is Brock Rumlow," Clint answered.

 

Bucky blinked, stunned, before snapping out, "I'm not working with the lying bastard ever again." Unable to sit anymore as furious, jittery energy filled his body, Bucky stood and began to pace around the room. 

 

"Yeah, I know, you hate his guts, but don't quit. Let Pierce fire you," Nick told him, "which he'll do because Rumlow's his favorite and he doesn't know you."

 

“Nick--” Bucky began to protest.

 

Nick held up his hand, silencing Bucky with a look. “We need you working with us as soon as possible, we can’t wait for the non-compete to end. Make Pierce fire you.”

 

Mulishly upset but knowing Nick was right, Bucky flopped back onto the couch, "So, Nick, you want me to stick it out until Pierce fires me?"

 

"Yes. Please," Nick said.

 

Bucky breathed for a few seconds. _ In through the nose, _ he told himself,  _ hold for a long count of five, release through the mouth. _ When he felt calmer, he sat up.

 

"Fine,” he said. “That sorts me out, but what about Clint?"

 

Clint grinned, and Bucky shifted back slightly. Clint's grin was scary.

 

"I got this," Clint told him, "and it's better you don't know anything about it. Just resist making Schmidt be a hero, and yell loudly about every single change Rumlow makes to your script. You won't last a month."

 

Bucky looked at Clint, seeing the determination in his gaze, and nodded.

 

"Good," Nick said, slapping his hands on his thighs and standing, "Barnes, walk me home."

 

"Yes, sir," Bucky replied.

 

"This meeting of Shield is adjourned," Steve said, also standing.

 

"Shield?" Bucky asked.   
  
"The antithesis of HYDRA and Dark Line," Nick said solemnly.

 

"Protectors of freedom and justice," Steve added with a grin. Bucky responded with his own smile, and stared at Steve until Nick touched his elbow and startled him.

 

Nick looked at him with an inscrutable look, but Bucky got the distinct impressed the taller man was amused. Nodding his head to hide his embarrassment, Bucky hurried over to the door and held it open as Nick strode passed. Bucky shot one last look behind him before following.  

 

As they walked home, Bucky kept his eyes on his feet. Nick walked beside him, also quiet. When they reached their building, Bucky used his keys to open the doors and followed Nick up to their floor.

 

Nick remained silent until they reached his door. After unlocking it, the man turned to look at Bucky, his gaze serious, but reassuring. "Barnes. I know you can do this. Just forget that there's a plan and do what feels right to you."

 

Bucky nodded and waved as Nick disappeared into his apartment. Walking back to his own rooms, Bucky opened his door and stepped into the dark entryway, shutting the door behind him. He leaned back against the door for a few breaths,mentally and physically exhausted, before summoning the wherewithal and pushing himself back up to get ready for bed.

 

~~~~~

 

The next morning, Bucky stared at the ceiling after his alarm went off, wondering if he'd dreamed last night. A banging on his door had him leaping out of bed.

 

"Barnes! Let's go!"

 

Bucky pulled on a pair of sweatpants and stumbled to the door, opening it with a snarl. Clint was leaning against the doorframe.

 

"What?" snapped Bucky.

 

"We gotta go to work, dude, and you're late," Clint told him.

 

Bucky groaned and let his head fall onto the hand holding the door. "C'mon in, Clint."

 

"Thanks. I'll make the coffee while you shower," Clint offered as he walked in.

 

"Don't bother, man, we're going to a coffee shop," Bucky said as he headed back to his bedroom.

 

"I live off coffee, dude, I'm making some," said Clint.

 

"Whatever," Bucky told him.

 

After a quick shower and a couple of pieces of toast, Bucky packed his stuff into his messenger bag and gestured to the door. Clint put his coffee mug in the sink and followed him. They walked out of the building and down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop. 

 

Clint stopped Bucky just before the door.

 

"Hey, remember, act normal. Do your job, just like you have before," Clint told him.

 

"Right, because there's nothing wrong with what's going on," Bucky growled, pushing forward.

 

Clint held him back. "There's everything wrong, and you know it, and if you screw this up, you lose the chance to get back at these people in a way that will be meaningful." Clint released him and followed him into the shop.

 

Bucky went to his usual place at the long table, setting his bag down, and joining the line for life-saving caffeine. He got his coffee and set himself up, then stopped. What was he supposed to write? How could he ignore that his words were being used to literally bring people to the dark side? He sipped his coffee and stared up at the joint between the ceiling and the brick wall, following with his eyes the line of the joists and letting his mind float.  For something to do, he scanned the headlines on a news site.  Tony Stark had made Potts the CEO of Stark Industries shortly before going MIA, the North Koreans were testing missiles, the price of oil had jumped back up after a slow downturn, and the elections in Europe were drawing rhetoric that Bucky couldn't face. He shut the webpage and returned to thinking.

 

When the ideas finally came to him, Bucky began typing.

 

_             Schmidt glared at Sarge. The unrepentant idiot smiled back. [Face off in this panel] _

__

_             "Is this your doing?" Schmidt gestured at the devastation surrounding them. _

 

_            "How could it be? I've been right here," Sarge smirked. _

 

_             Maybe whole page, with Schmidt and Sarge facing each other, filling the page, while the usual panels are filled with tanks blowing up, buildings pounded to rubble, large groups of prisoners in Schmidt's uniforms, and so forth. _

 

_            "Well if you didn't do it, who did?" Schmidt roared. _

 

_             End of issue. _

 

Glancing over to the chair where Steve usually sat, Bucky couldn’t help the pang in his chest as it still sat empty. He didn’t know where Steve was, why he hadn’t come in that day.  _ But, _ Bucky told himself as he forced his attention back to his computer,  _ it’s not like we’re actually friends. It’s none of my business. _

 

Bucky opened his email to send the panel script and read the latest from his employer.

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com, JBRumlow@darkline.com

From: AGPierce@darkline.com

Re: New team member

 

Brock Rumlow will be your new line artist and letterer. I know you'll welcome him to the team.

 

-Pierce

 

Bucky grinned. Clint and Nick had been correct. He didn't know how they'd figured out who the new line artist would be, but messing with Rumlow would become his new favorite pastime. After their clash in college, Bucky would never trust Rumlow again, the lying bastard. No one deserved the treatment Rumlow had dished out to that young woman and her friends. Bucky clenched his fists for a long moment, then breathed deeply and turned his anger to his writing.

 

~~~~~

 

_            "You do not understand. My people have been given the leavings of other countries for too long," Schmidt was pacing around his office, speaking to Sarge. _

 

_             "No, I understand that," Sarge told him. _

 

_              "Then why do you not agree with my goals? My people need clean water, fresh air, land that will grow crops to feed them, not rocky soil that grows stunted crops if it grows anything. We cannot survive on rocks!" _

 

_              Sarge replied, "Your goals are worthy, but your method stinks. You didn't negotiate, or try to get a treaty, or anything. You declared war, and you're killing innocent people." _

 

_               "Those people are not innocent. They overcharged us for years for food, they turned their backs on us! They laughed at us when we tried to come to a peaceful resolution!" _

 

_               "I'm not saying you didn't have provocation, but war should be a last resort, not a first step. You went from 'gimme' to 'shoot them' with no steps in-between," Sarge said. _

 

_              Schmidt glared, "You say that from the position of someone that hasn't been denied the basic necessities of life." _

 

_               Sarge laughed, "You grow up poor in Queens, then come and tell me that. I had plenty of nights when I went to sleep hungry and cold. Life ain't that easy for an orphan kid, either." _

 

_              Schmidt looked at him, "If you understand, then why do you oppose me? Are our goals not the same? A good life for our people?" _

 

_               Sarge shifted his feet, "Sure, pal, but the difference is, I think you work for what you want, not take it from other people." _

 

_               "You're a fool," Schmidt told him. _

 

_              "Maybe, but I can live with that," Sarge answered. _

 

To: JBRumlow@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com

From: JBBarnes@darkline.com

Re: newest panels

 

Sending them your way, guys.

 

~JBB

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com

From: JBRumlow@darkline.com

Re: re: newest panels

Attachment: page 3

 

Barnes, this isn't acceptable. Re-do that page.

~Rumlow

 

To: JBRumlow@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com

From: CFBarton@darkline.com

Re: re: re: newest panels

 

Rumlow, you aren't the editor. This storyline has been planned for months and had management approval.

 

~clint

 

To: CFBarton@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com

From: JBRumlow@darkline.com

Re: re: re: re: newest panels

 

That approval's been revoked. Re-do the page.

~Rumlow

 

To: JBRumlow@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com

From: JBBarnes@darkline.com

Re: editorial approval

 

The page stands until/unless I hear from management.

 

~JBB

 

Bucky looked up and caught Clint's eye across the coffee shop. Clint tapped his nose and went back to work and Bucky grinned to himself.

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com, JBRumlow@darkline.com

From: AGPierce@darkline.com

Re: editorial approval

 

From here on, Brock Rumlow has editorial control over the content of HYDRA.

 

-Pierce

 

To: AGPierce@darkline.com, CFBarton@darkline.com, JBRumlow@darkline.com

From: JBBarnes@darkline.com

Re: re: editorial approval

 

Yes, sir.

 

~JBB

 

Bucky looked over at Clint, who finished reading and looked over to him. Bucky nodded and went back to work.

  
  
  


_             "You do not understand. My people have been given the leavings of other countries for too long," Schmidt was pacing around his office, speaking to Sarge. _

 

_             "No, I understand that," Sarge told him. _

 

_             "Then why do you not agree with my goals? My people need clean water, fresh air, land that will grow crops to feed them, not rocky soil that grows stunted crops if it grows anything. We cannot survive on rocks!" _

 

_             ~~Sarge replied, "Your goals are worthy, but your method stinks. You didn't negotiate, or try to get a treaty, or anything. You declared war, and you're killing innocent people."~~ _

 

~~_             " _ _ Those people are not innocent. They overcharged us for years for food, they turned their backs on us! They laughed at us when we tried to come to a peaceful resolution!" _ ~~

 

~~_             "I'm not saying you didn't have provocation, but war should be a last resort, not a first step. You went from 'gimme' to 'shoot them' with no steps in-between," Sarge said. _ ~~

 

_            Sarge replied, "I hear that, pal, but you still should try to talk first." _

 

_            Schmidt glared, "You say that from the position of someone that hasn't been denied the basic necessities of life." _

 

_             Sarge laughed, "You grow up poor in Queens, then come and tell me that. I had plenty of nights when I went to sleep hungry and cold. Life ain't that easy for an orphan kid, either." _

 

_             Schmidt looked at him, "If you understand, then why do you oppose me? Are our goals not the same? A good life for our people?" _

 

_            Sarge shifted his feet, "Sure, pal, but the difference is, I think you work for what you want, not take it from other people." _

 

_           "You're a fool," Schmidt told him. _

 

_            "Maybe,  _ ~~_ but I can live with that, _ ~~ _ " Sarge answered. _

 

The next week continued in the same vein, with Rumlow demanding more changes and edits. Bucky kept his head down and grimly continued to work, while Clint egged Rumlow on, questioning every change Rumlow made to the script.

 

Steve still hadn’t returned to Sharp Pressed, and Bucky hadn’t realized just how much he’d liked seeing Steve every day.

 

"You need to butt heads with Rumlow more," Clint told him at the end of the week.

 

Bucky tipped his head back and breathed out hard before replying, "Yeah, I know. I just...he's such a jerk, and I kind of feel that if I start, I'm not going to stop."

 

"Nothing wrong with that," Clint said. "Are you coming over?"

 

"Yeah, I need to talk to Steve," Bucky answered.

 

"Cool, it's your turn to pay for pizza," Clint told him.

 

They entered Clint's building, with Bucky following Clint up the stairs. Clint opened his door and headed for his chair, pulling his phone out at the same time. He ordered pizza, including a gluten free vegan for Steve, all while pulling out his laptop and arranging his stuff. Bucky cleared a space on the coffee table, setting up his tablet's keyboard and switching his email to his private account rather than his Dark Line one.

 

The buzzer went off, and Bucky went over and pressed the door release. A few minutes later, Steve entered the apartment and began to set himself up next to Bucky. He and Steve had, with Nick's approval and input, decided to write the story of Cap vs the Red Skull together, giving the credit for the writing to Steve, since Bucky couldn't be associated with this storyline yet. Clint and Nick gave input where they could, but the primary writer was Bucky, doing this in his free time, and Steve, giving feedback and his ideas of how Cap would behave. Though they’d only collaborated through email so far, the team had worked well together, and the first issues were being done rapidly. Clint was doing the colors for them, while Nick was extremely busy starting Shield and getting funding for the new comic line they were trying to start. 

 

Bucky hadn’t truly appreciated how much went into starting a comic company, and Nick’s efforts blew his mind whenever the subject was brought up. Steve's line art was being used by Nick to demonstrate their material. Making phone calls, talking to investors, and setting up a physical space for Shield was absorbing all of Nick's time, so writing was beyond him right now. He looked over the work Steve and Bucky did but, for the most part, he let them have free rein to write the story as they thought best.

 

"Okay, so, we have Cap coming over to the European theatre of war, as part of the USO. How does he feel about that?" Bucky asked, editing the document he shared with Steve.

 

"He hates it. Those guys are out there, giving their lives, and Cap's just a dancing monkey," Steve answered.

 

"Ha," Clint added, "it would be funny if the guys acknowledged that and booed Cap off the stage."

 

"Great idea," Bucky added that action to the script. He pulled his hair back and snapped a band off his wrist to keep it out of the way, then picked up his coffee and began typing.

 

"Bucky," Steve said.

 

"Yeah, Steve?" Bucky said, pausing in his story-telling.

 

"It sucks that you're giving me your writing credit when you're doing the work," Steve told him, pressing against him lightly, his blue eyes serious and boring into Bucky’s own. 

 

Bucky stared back for a moment before opening his mouth to say something. Before any words left his mouth, however, the buzzer went off. The contact between himself and Steve disappeared as Steve leaned back and Bucky missed the warmth. Clint stood up to answer the door and Bucky tore his attention away from Steve to hand Clint cash for the pizzas. Clint winked before left to get the food, and Bucky returned his gaze to Steve.

 

"Look, Steve, it has to be this way. I want to write this, and I'm willing to do it under the table. I'm glad you're letting me use your name for the writing until I can get out from under Dark Line."

 

Steve sighed, "I know, Bucky, I do. I just don't like lying."

 

Bucky laughed, "Well, I suppose, but I'm basing Cap off you if that makes you feel any better. Why do you think I'm always asking you how Cap would react? Because you are my template. Your righteousness and sense of right and wrong are what's driving this character. So in a very big way, you  _ are _ writing this story."

 

"Oh," Steve said softly. Again, he pressed against Bucky's side, and Bucky had to think about trash collection to stop his body's reaction to Steve. Now was not the time to try romancing Steve he told himself, though he wished they could, maybe, move past flirting.

 

While he didn’t know if Steve was into guys for sure, Steve was open to their flirting, and Steve caught him more than once looking at Bucky, pupils blown and gaze heated. He thought they were on the same page. The only thing holding them back? Their unspoken, undiscussed agreement that the comic came first.

 

Bucky couldn’t help but wish, though, that things were different.

 

Clint came in with a stack of boxes just then, and the moment slid away as they busied themselves with food.

 

~~~~

 

The next day, Bucky spent an hour doing adult chores before packing up his bag and walking down to get his bike. He cycled to the post office and got stamps, sticking them on his bills and dropping them in the slot. Then he cycled over to his sister's apartment. He locked his bike to the handrail of the building and hopped up the stairs into the lobby. He buzzed Becky and waited until she let him in before climbing up to her apartment.

 

"Hey, bro, how's life?" Becky asked as she let him in.

 

"It's okay. How are you?" Bucky returned, giving her a big hug.

 

"I'm set to start my new job next week and I’ve found a new apartment, which is great because I really hate the landlord here," Becky said, turning into the apartment and waving. Her living room was very clean, with the furniture pushed against a wall and a stack of boxes neatly placed against the other wall, labeled and ready to go.

 

"Wow, congrats!" Bucky told her, pulling her for another hug.

 

Becky returned the hug fiercely, muttering into his neck, "I'm just glad I get to use my degree for something other than waitressing. I want Mom to be proud of me."

 

"Mom is proud of you, Becks," Bucky told her.

 

Becky stepped back and laughed, "I think I feel like a faker, though. I mean, how the heck did I make it through college, through the master's program, and get a job? I'm the queen of posers. You're the one who has it together!"

 

Bucky shook his head, "Nah, I'm a poser, too. Faking it until I make it, that's me."

 

Becky leaned against him and said, "Maybe that's how every adult feels."

 

Bucky tugged gently on her ponytail and nodded, "I think so. Anyway, brought you over the mail from Mom's, and to tell you that she expects both of us for Sunday dinner, and she won't accept any excuses."

 

"Ugh, fine, I'll be there. Thanks, Bucky."

 

"Anytime, Becks. Take care. See you Sunday," Bucky waved and headed out.

 

He did a couple of other small errands on his way to the coffee shop. Once he arrived, he locked his bike and entered, looking around. Clint was in his usual spot, but his hearing aids were out and he was frowning at his screen. He didn’t look up when Bucky tossed a half-hearted wave in his direction.

 

Bucky claimed his spot and got his coffee before opening his tablet. He clicked over to his email account for Dark Line and frowned himself, looking at the string of new emails.

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, JBRumlow@darkline.com

From: CFBarton@darkline.com

Re: latest panels

 

These panels don't have any color annotations. Did someone forget to turn on a layer?

 

~clint

 

To: CFBarton@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com

From: JBRumlow@darkline.com

Re: re: latest panels

 

These are special, and I sent them to my colorist.

~Rumlow

 

To: JBRumlow@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com

From: CFBarton@darkline.com

Re: re: re: latest panels

 

I am the colorist for this title. Why would you do that?

 

~clint

 

To: CFBarton@darkline.com, JBBarnes@darkline.com

From: JBRumlow@darkline.com

Re: re: re: re: latest panels

 

Because this particular issue is important, and Pierce agreed with me that we needed our top colorist on it.

~Rumlow

 

Bucky was fuming by the time he finished the string. He looked up at Clint and was surprised to see him talking to a woman. Clint was rapidly signing and she was taking notes in a sleek notepad. Her hood was up, obscuring her features, but Bucky couldn't shake the idea that he had seen her before. He shook himself and returned his attention to his tablet, wondering what his next move should be. He wrote for a while, but his heart wasn't in it, and he soon packed up and headed home.

 

He stopped at his mailbox and retrieved his mail. His copy of the latest issue of  HYDRA was among the flyers and bills. He waited until he was in his apartment before ripping the flat envelope open and pulling out the comic book.

 

Three pages in, he began to laugh. Clint had subtly altered the colors so the issue looked wrong. There was nothing that wasn't in the color guide, but the reds were duller, the blues were greyed, everything was darker shades that it had been on the first few pages. This is what everything was about - Clint had set himself up to get fired. Bucky laughed in relief before returning his attention to the dialogue.

 

Five minutes later, he was pacing in his living room, furiously muttering imprecations under his breath. Rumlow hadn't been satisfied with the changes Bucky had made, he'd instead altered the dialogue further, making it seem that Sarge agreed with everything Schmidt was saying. His phone buzzed, and Bucky grabbed it.

 

**CFB:** Well, that sucks.

                                                                                       Yes, it does **: me**

**CFB:** What are you going to do?

                                                                            What I must - fight **: me**

**CFB:** You go, man!

 

Bucky tipped his head back and breathed for a minute. This was the right thing to do, he just had to keep going.

 

~~~~

 

_            Sarge glared up at Schmidt from his knees and snarled, "You can kill me, it won't stop the forces against you!" _

 

_            Schmidt smiled, a nasty twist of his lips, "Perhaps not, but it will remove you from the equation, and that is all that I want right now. Take him to the execution chamber!" _

 

_            The guards hoisted Sarge to his feet and pulled him toward the door. Sarge planted his feet and twisted to face Schmidt, "I'm not the only one. Others will oppose you and what you stand for. Freedom will always win!" _

 

_            Schmidt gestured them out, and the guards dragged Sarge away. _

 

_             [Scene of Sarge on his knees, head bowed, as guards level pistols at him. Schmidt is looking at his table map.] _

 

Bucky was talking to his sister over Skype, feeling a need to vent to someone who wasn’t Nick, Clint, or Steve because while the three of them understood where he was coming from, they already knew about it all. They were in the trenches with him, so to speak, and Bucky wanted Becky’s opinion on the whole issue. While he’d alluded to the problems via text and their occasional phone calls, it was never anything in-depth.

 

“You just gotta buckle down and get it down,” she told him once he had finished explaining the situation and the comic which had come in that morning.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky muttered, running his hands through his hair angrily. “It just pisses me off, y’know? This whole situation--” He cut himself off, huffing angrily.

 

“Look, Buck,” Becky said, her face sympathetic. “You’re still fighting back, you’re still trying to do the right thing--”

 

“But is it enough?” Bucky demanded. “‘Cause I haven’t been fired yet, so why--” A knock came at his door, effectively silencing Bucky’s rant.

 

"Hang on, Becks, the door," Bucky said as he stood. When he opened the door, Brock Rumlow was standing there. Rumlow shoved him back into the living room and followed.

 

"Hey!" Bucky snapped.

 

"Shut up, Barnes. I'm here to lay down some cold, hard truths, and you're going to shut up and listen. You won't get fired, no matter how you try to write this. You will fulfill your contract, which is for five more issues, and you will work for Dark Line unless and until we decide we're done with you. Got it?"

 

Bucky gawped before snapping, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Rumlow. Get out of my home!"

 

Rumlow shoved two fingers into Bucky's sternum, snarling, "This is about you and your little buddies, trying to sabotage the  HYDRA comic line. I know what you're doing. Barton just got fired for his stunt with the colors, but you, you got talent and we ain't letting you go."

 

Bucky straightened his shoulders and said, "You can't stop me from quitting, Rumlow."

 

"No, but it sure would be a shame if that sister of yours had an … accident … wouldn't it, Barnes? Poor kid, crossing the street at the wrong time. Those taxis never pay attention to the pedestrians."

 

Bucky stepped back, shuddering, and Rumlow pressed his advantage, "If you quit, you won't get to work for anyone else. We'll fuck up your life so bad you'll beg to die. Ride out your contract, don't make this hard, and you can walk away free at the end. Got it?"

 

Bucky nodded, his head drooping.

 

"I didn't hear that, Barnes? Do you understand me?" Rumlow pressed.

 

"Yes. Yes, Rumlow, I understand. I fulfill my contract, nothing happens to my sister or to me. I don't fulfill my contract, and bad things happen."

 

"Good. You're not as stupid as you look. I'm expecting the next issue's script in three days, and don't make me edit it, either." Rumlow shoved Bucky back, then stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

 

Bucky stumbled over to the couch and collapsed on it, covering his face with his hands.

 

"Bucky?" came Becky's plaintive query from the phone.

 

Bucky scrambled to pick up his phone. "Becks, I'm sorry, I…"

 

"Shut up. I recorded him."

 

"What?" Bucky gawped down at her face as she glowered up to him from the screen.

 

"I recorded him threatening you," Becky said, her face disappearing for a moment before returning with a small rectangular device held next to her cheek, "with my digital recorder that I use for classes, and I'm saving the file out to the cloud right now. I'll send you a link, okay? And, Bucky? You have a case for intimidation and harassment."

 

"Oh, my gods, Becky, how did you get to be so awesome?" Bucky was laughing and crying at the same time, the mixed feelings of horror and relief combining to make him dizzy.

 

"I just am," Becky replied, "Now, what's Nick Fury's email?"

 

As Bucky told her the address, he thought about what had just happened. He wasn't happy about being threatened, but he would do just about anything to protect his sister from someone like Rumlow. Five more issues was not what he wanted to do, but if it meant that he could get away and Becky would be safe, he was sure Nick, Steve, and Clint would understand.


	3. ...This is bad

The next morning, Bucky was whistling to himself as he biked to the coffee shop. He was thinking about the stories, both of them, as he pedaled. The contrast between Sarge/Cap and Schmidt/Red Skull was based on the point of view of the writer, and it was getting harder for him to put himself into Schmidt's headspace to write him well. Cap was much easier in comparison, and it helped that he had Steve, the perpetual defender of the underdog, as his co-writer. He needed to do his best with Schmidt, though, because of the threat to Becky. 

 

His earbuds were tucked in his ears, and while his music wasn't loud, he was absorbed in his thoughts and didn't hear the screams behind him. 

 

His first inkling that something was wrong was when he was hit from behind and pushed forward into the wall of the building he'd been passing. 

 

His last thought was that he was glad it was him and not Becky.

 

When Bucky opened his eyes next, a muffled sobbing was coming from next to him. It took all his effort to turn his head and see his sister on a chair next to his bed. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair was a mess, and her face was splotchy. She saw him moving and hastily wiped her eyes, whispering, "Bucky?"

 

Bucky felt his eyes slide shut and knew no more.

 

When he next opened his eyes, Becky was still there, but her hair was tidy and her face was clear, although pale, with deep lines around her mouth and eyes. She reached for a cup with a straw and placed the straw to his lips so he could take a sip of water.

 

The mere act of drinking was exhausting to Bucky, and he felt his eyes closing again, much against his will. Becky put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm here. You're safe. I've got your back, Bucky."

 

The third time Bucky regained consciousness, Becky was still there, but so was Nick. Becky helped him drink again, then pressed the call button. She and Nick stepped back as a nurse bustled into the room and began to chart his vitals. When she was done, she turned to Becky.

 

"Dr. Smith will want to see him, so expect him tomorrow morning during rounds. Other than that, he's doing as well as we can expect."

 

"Thank you," Becky said.

 

Nick stepped up to the bed and leaned over Bucky, saying quietly, "Your sister is a godsend, Barnes. Get better, don't worry about anything." He straightened up and nodded to Becky before leaving, the soft  _ click _ of the door shutting behind him echoing oddly in Bucky’s drugged-up ears.

 

Becky stepped forward and put her hand on Bucky's shoulder, "You scared me half to death, Bucky. Don't do that again."

 

"M'sorry, Becks. Not my fault," Bucky slurred as he started drifting down again.

 

Vaguely he heard "I know, Bucky, I know."

 

It took a few more cycles of waking and sleeping before Bucky could remain awake for more than a couple of minutes. It took far longer than he thought it should for him to realize that his left arm  _ hurt _ , and longer still for him to realize he no longer had a left arm. He discovered this when he forced his limp and heavy right arm over to rub at his left arm to alleviate the pain only to touch empty air. 

 

“Becks,” Bucky slurred, the drugs making it nearly impossible to shout.

 

Becky looked up from her phone where she had been texting and her eyes fell on Bucky’s arm flopped across his chest, touching the place his left arm should have been.

 

Her face fell, and it was enough to tell Bucky it wasn’t something he was hallucinating, it wasn’t something the drugs made him think.

 

“N-no,” he moaned, patting at the empty air as if his arm would solidify under his searching touch.

 

“Oh, Bucky,” Becky breathed, sliding off her seat and standing next to his bed, placing her hands on his remaining hand. “It--It’ll be okay.”

 

Bucky blinked, unsurprised to find them watery. The tears dribbled down his face and before he knew it, he and Becky were both crying. 

 

He and Becky sobbed together, mourning the loss. Neither of them were pretty criers, their eyes ringed dark red and their tears mixing with their running noses. They didn’t care, too caught up in the fact that Bucky was alive but missing a part of himself,  _ but he was alive  _ and … and they were together.

 

There was something about crying,  Bucky thought muzzily, the fact that one feels lighter and heavier all at once. A release of emotions, but an acknowledgment of the problem.

 

He cried and cried, reeling from the recent events, confused and hurt and scared.

 

He was so glad Becky was there with him.

 

He just wished Steve was there, too.

 

Finally, after wiping his eyes and resettling himself, Bucky started to get caught up.

 

"Where's Mom?"

 

Becky breathed deep and replied, "She's been here, but Dad lost his job so she can't take very much time off. Dad's been here, too, but he's still job-searching like crazy."

 

“I thought he found something at a convenience store a few weeks ago,” Bucky said.

 

Becky made a face. “Yeah, he did. They fired him because he ‘seemed too down’ like, what were they expecting? It’s not a glamorous job or anything.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes. “Damn.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They were silent for a few moments, and though Bucky was almost scared to ask, his curiosity won out. "Um, Becks, what--what happened?" 

 

Becky answered him, her summation prompt, concise, and sparing of extraneous details, "You were slammed into a building by a taxi. Unfortunately, the driver died at the scene, so no one knows what happened, exactly. It was, apparently, a heart attack."

 

Bucky squirmed as he asked the next question, "Who, um, who is paying for this? Because I don't have the money for all of this." He waved his hand around the room.

 

Becky smiled, and Bucky flinched. It was her killer smile, the one that meant trouble for everyone.

 

"Well. Let's see. Dark Line was claiming that they fired you, so you weren't covered under their insurance plan. They changed their minds when Mr. Murdock--a lawyer Nick helped me find-- played the recording I made of Rumlow threatening you, so you, my dear brother, are completely covered by Dark Line. Of course, I've stayed here and my employer has been super good about it by delaying the start of my employment and also giving me a stipend until you're better, because I don't trust that they won't try to finish the job of killing you. Also, our lawyer had helped us by sending police to check on you as they can. On the whole, you've had a lot of people here, watching over you."

 

Bucky was stunned and looked at her. She nodded and added, "Rumlow tried to show his face. It was unfortunate that he ran into a friend of a friend and was persuaded to, ah, leave without seeing you. He hasn't tried again."

 

Bucky cleared his throat and choked out, "Do I want to know?"

 

"Plausible deniability, so no, you don't," Becky assured him. “It’s been a  _ devil  _ of a time trying to protect you.”

 

Bucky ignored the last part, knowing he was missing something and too exhausted to pursue it further. 

 

"Okay, then, I don't want to know," he leaned back, exhausted by everything he'd learned.

 

"Sleep, Bucky. I'm taking care of things," Becky smoothed his blankets and began to lean the bed back. Bucky slipped into sleep between one breath and the next.

 

~~~~~

 

Physical therapy was hell on earth, Bucky was sure. He had to learn to walk again, because his center of mass was completely off. Then he had to work on strengthening his remaining arm and all his back muscles. He had to learn new stretches and his PT was firm that he had to do the stretches every day, several times each day. He had to strengthen his hips and core muscles, to compensate for the change in mass and to help his balance.

 

He also attended occupational therapy. He had to learn to do things with only one hand. His stump required care every day, with bandage changes and checks on the end of the stump. He had about three inches of upper arm below his shoulder, and he would be fitted for a prosthesis within the week. Becky attended these sessions, also learning what Bucky needed to do and how to do it. 

 

The hospital also assigned him a psychologist, to help him cope mentally with the loss of his arm and with the feelings of loss and anger Bucky was going through.

 

“It’s understandable you’re upset,” his therapist often told him and while Bucky appreciated the reminder, it didn’t help with the fact that he lost his arm over some stupid comic pushing for a Nazi agenda.

 

With everything new he was doing, Bucky had very little opportunity to brood. Clint and Nick often came to see him.

 

Steve didn't.

 

Bucky waited every day, from the time visiting hours began to the time they ended, but Steve never came in, never stepped foot in Bucky’s room.

 

“I’m sure he’ll come,” Becky told him when Bucky voiced his concerns, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t too big a deal. Her eyes were a little bit too understanding for Bucky’s taste.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, entirely unconvinced.

 

“Hey,” Clint said a day or so later--it was hard to tell time between the morphine and the small window. “Steve was asking about you.”

 

“Really?” Bucky winced at how plaintive his voice sounded.

 

Clint nodded, not looking at Bucky. “Yeah, he’d come himself but, y’know, with his illness and all…”

 

“What illness?” Bucky asked, sitting up a little straighter.

 

This time Clint did look up at him. “Oh, didn’t Nick tell you? Steve’s all laid up. Pneumonia or something. Didn’t want to come in and get you sick.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky breathed. “ _ Oh, _ okay.” 

 

After that, Bucky’s spirits rose quite a bit. He even smiled when his father came on Friday and spent most of the weekend with him, giving Becky a chance to go home and do laundry and sleep in her own bed. His mother came on Sunday evening, grey-faced and tired. She didn't stay long, but Bucky was glad to see her. Becky showed up when his folks were there, and the whole family took a long moment to be grateful for Bucky's survival. Then their folks left and Becky resumed her usual place in the chair next to his bed. 

 

"So, who's Steve?" Becky asked.

 

Bucky startled and looked at her, "Why?"

 

"Because you looked like a dog who got kicked until Clint made sure you knew he couldn't be here, and I wondered why it was so important that you knew," Becky answered.

 

"Oh," Bucky said. He slumped back, and Becky poked him.

 

"Sit up straight or put the bed back. Don't slouch."

 

"You sound like Mom," Bucky grumbled as he fumbled for the bed controls. He lowered the head of the bed and settled himself in a more comfortable position.

 

"Steve's … a friend. He's good people, Becks," Bucky muttered. 

 

“I hadn’t asked, but I’m sure he is.” Becky smirked.

 

“Oh my God, no, we’re just friends,” Bucky protested.

 

Becky nodded her head in an exaggerated manner. “ _ Suuuure _ ...”

 

“You’re the worst sister in the world,” Bucky mumbled. He had missed Steve, and although it was awful to hear that Steve was sick, Bucky was glad he had a reason for not visiting.

 

Becky just nodded and sent him another smirk before pulling out a book and reading it aloud. Bucky gratefully drifted off to sleep with his sister's words lulling him down.

 

~~~~

 

Two weeks after he finally woke up, Bucky left the hospital with a temporary prosthesis and the company of his sister and Clint, who had also come to help get Bucky and all his supplies. Becky sprang for a taxi, not wanting to subject Bucky to the subway system quite yet, and they all made it back to Bucky's apartment. Surprisingly, his messenger bag had been transported to the hospital with him and his keys, wallet, and tablet had been kept safe by Becky.

 

"Home, sweet home," Bucky said, collapsing on the couch with a groan. Clint laughed and swung the bag of medical supplies onto the coffee table. Becky put the small bag of Bucky's personal items in his bedroom and joined him on the couch. Clint slouched into the one chair Bucky had. 

 

The buzzer went off, and Clint groaned.

 

“I’m not getting it,” Becky said, touching her finger to her nose.

 

“I’m a gimp,” Bucky offered.

 

Clint glared at both of them before he heaved himself out of the chair and went to the speaker.

 

"Yeah?"

 

The speaker was staticky, but Bucky recognized the voice immediately, "Hey, Clint."

 

"Hey, Steve," Clint replied and pressed the button to let him into the building. Long minutes later, Steve knocked on Bucky's door. Clint, who was still standing and was making himself a cup of coffee, opened the door to let him in.

 

Steve was thinner than Bucky remembered, but his smile was just as bright as it had ever been. Bucky couldn't help the answering grin that crossed his face. Steve's face fell when he saw Bucky's lack of an arm, and Bucky tucked the stump behind him out of Steve’s sight. Steve moved forward quickly.

 

"Hey, no, I'm so glad you're alive," Steve said as he came over to Bucky and leaned down to give him a hug.

 

"You look like crap," Bucky replied, leaning into the hug and wrapping his one arm around Steve's back. It was good to touch Steve again, and to have him touch Bucky.

 

Steve straightened and handed over a shopping bag to Clint, who took it into the kitchen. He introduced himself to Becky and then sat in Bucky's armchair.

 

"I had pneumonia. I get it often, because my lungs are crap, but this time … well, the timing sucked. How … how are you doing?" Steve asked, running his eyes over Bucky again.

 

"Jeez, Steve, what are you doing here?" Bucky exclaimed, "You should be home, resting!"

 

"I've been resting. I'm tired of resting. It's a good thing we had such a streak of writing, because Nick's been able to keep the issues going, but we're out of stock. I thought, if I came over, we could brainstorm storylines and I could write it." Steve leaned back, a slight flush coloring his cheeks.

 

"Oh, yeah, Nick mentioned that," Clint offered as he came back with the shopping bag folded up in one hand and Bucky’s only purple mug held in the other. He offered the bag to Steve, who tucked it in his pocket. "He said you two were the best team he'd seen in his years of writing, and he hoped he didn't have to step in, because he wasn't sure if he could match what you have done."

 

Steve waved his hand, "Pft, Nick is awesome and could easily match us. He just doesn't want to, and he doesn't have time with everything else he's got to do. Besides, he and I clash too much."

 

"I wonder why," Bucky said from his corner of the couch, "just because he likes to keep secrets and only give out information when he thinks you need it, and you like to be open, honest, and above board in everything you do. Totally compatible outlooks on life, you and Nick."

 

Clint laughed, "Sarcasm's back, Barnes is well on his way to full health."

 

Becky sounded scandalized when she replied, "Bucky is in no way, shape, or form ready to start writing for your silly comic."

 

Bucky rolled his head and looked at her, "It's not silly, Becky. Believe it or not, we're fighting for the future of the youth of our country with these storylines. Nazi propaganda versus the messy, ugly truth that freedom requires defenders to remain available."

 

Becky opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally asking, " _ How _ , Bucky? It’s just a comic!"

 

Steve replied for him, "Comics allow stories to be told that can't be told in other formats. It's one of the few genres that are rarely challenged by parents, or banned, and kids are expected to read comics. Even if they aren't big readers, comics are available. They can be shared, as a book often can't. What Pierce is doing at Dark Line is normalizing behaviors and thoughts that shouldn't be normal. We're trying to show the opposite side of that, by elevating not only freedom, but the ability to question the kind of thinking that leads to people like Schmidt."

 

Bucky nodded and added, "Schmidt, the Red Skull, they take away freedom a little bit at a time, and ride out the outrage before doing another theft. Soon people are exhausted from fighting, and they give up. Dictators depend on that weariness, on being able to stifle the freedoms that allow them to rule without question. Things such as a free press, the ability to peacefully resist, the ability to communicate with other like-minded people - these are all weapons against dictatorships, and Pierce is trying to make them into bad things."

 

"So, you, and Steve, and Clint, and Nick are trying to fight against this with more comics?" Becky wanted to know.

 

"Fight fire with fire," Clint told her cheerfully. "Besides, making comics is pretty fun, and we have a good time together."

 

"Dream team," Steve nodded, "and Bucky's a big part of that."

 

Bucky stuck his tongue out at Steve, who just smiled at him and shifted around to get his messenger bag.

 

"Clint and I worked on this while you were in the hospital," Steve said, digging in the bag. "I did the lines, and Clint did the colors, and we'd like your opinion." He pulled out a folder and opened it, turning it to Bucky.

 

It was Cap, and he was standing tall and proud. Steve had put a star on his chest and stripes across his abdomen. Clint had colored his costume mostly blue, with highlights of red and white. The star was white and stood out against the blue really well. On his arm was a shield, a white star centered on it and ringed in blue, white, and red. He had a helm on that covered the upper part of his face, and red gloves and boots. A pistol was holstered at his side.

 

"Lose the gun," Becky suggested.

 

"Really? How's he going to defend himself?" Clint asked.

 

Bucky answered, "With the shield. He's the shield, the shield is him, and he defends others. It's what Steve does," in response to Steve opening his mouth, "and he's awesome, guys."

 

"Glad you like it," Steve said, turning it back around and looking down at the drawing, a faint hint of color washing over his face.

 

"I still think weapons should be an option," Clint grumbled.

 

"Depending on the situation, yes," Bucky replied, "but I think Cap does stand for defending freedom, so that should be our focus. It would be a great contrast to the Red Skull, who does nothing but start fights."

 

Becky was nodding. She'd moved over next to Steve and was talking with him quietly, pointing out specific places on the drawing. Steve had pulled out his sketch pad and was making a new drawing, incorporating her thoughts as he drew.

 

Bucky could feel the energy draining away. He was so tired. Today had been very full, with checking out of the hospital, getting home, getting settled, and having Steve over to visit. He closed his eyes, his head lolling on the cushion, and knew no more.

 

~~~~

 

When he awoke, it was dark. There was a dim light on in his kitchen, but everything else was quiet and dark. He struggled out of the blanket draped over him and made his unsteady way to the bathroom. After doing his business and washing his hand (and thank heavens for liquid soap), Bucky made his way to the kitchen and peering in the refrigerator. A pyrex dish labelled 'Bucky' caught his attention and he pulled it out. Inside was an entire meal and on the back of the sticky note were reheating instructions. Bucky popped the dish into the microwave and hunted for his single oven mitt. When he opened the drawer, he found a couple of new trivets and mitts. He used a trivet to protect his table and a mitt to place the container of food on the trivet, before sitting down and eating the meal quickly. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he'd started to eat, and the food vanished quickly. Bucky took the container to the sink and ran water into it, intending to let it soak until morning. He peeked into his bedroom, smiling at Becky curled under his covers, and made his way back to the couch, settling under the blanket and letting himself fall back into sleep.

 

Becky stayed for a couple more days, until Bucky felt comfortable in his own home, able to do the necessary chores to live. She helped him pay his bills on-line and set up automatic payments for basics such as his electricity, gas, and rent, and stood by while he washed dishes and clothes, vacuumed and dusted, and built up his stamina. Vacuuming, for example, took three attempts before the entire apartment was done. He'd vacuum for ten minutes, be completely exhausted and need to rest for thirty minutes, before getting up and repeating the cycle. Nevertheless, he persisted and pushed himself to show his sister that he could do this by himself.

 

The evening Becky left for her own home, Bucky clung to her in their parting hug.

 

"I can never thank you enough for everything you did for me, Becks," he whispered.

 

Becky leaned back and framed his face with her hands, "You don't have to thank me, Bucky. I did what any decent person would do for their family."

 

"Uh-huh," Bucky replied, "you went above and beyond, Becks."

 

"I was happy to be able to help you, Bucky. Now, I'll see you Sunday. I'm going to swing by and pick you up to go have dinner with the parents, I'll be here around 4 o'clock, okay?" She picked up her suitcase and looked at him.

 

"Okay. Thanks, Becky," Bucky gave her one more quick hug and stepped back to let her go.

 

Becky waved to him from the street before hailing a cab and leaving Bucky alone for the first time in weeks. He wrapped his arm around himself and shivered before turning away from the window.

 

He got ready for bed and settled down to read before turning out the lights. Becky had bought him a book pyramid, which was a big pillow, pyramid shaped, that held the book at a good angle for reading and rested on his lap. It was one the many changes he'd had to make to compensate for his missing arm. Once he'd read a chapter, he pushed the pyramid aside and scooted under the covers before reaching over to turn off the light.

 

He awoke hours later, his heart pounding and sweat beading his forehead, panting for breath. He sat upright, focusing on his breathing and trying to get himself calmed down. He didn't know what had woken him, but he knew it wasn't his dreams. He looked at the clock - 4 AM. Bucky flung the blankets aside, standing and stretching. After such a wake-up, he wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, so he might as well start his day. He showered, dressed himself (which took a frustratingly long time) and ate a quick breakfast before gathering his bag and heading to the coffee shop.

 

Sharp Pressed opened at 5AM, and Bucky thought he'd have to wait, but the doors were opened when he arrived. The owner, Anthony, was behind the counter, concocting a brew that smelled dark and sharp. Anthony glanced up when Bucky stepped up to the counter, then did a double take and looked Bucky over slowly, from head to counter height.

 

"What the hell happened to you?" Anthony asked gruffly.

 

"I got run over by a taxi," Bucky replied.

 

"You look like how I feel," Anthony responded. “Did you hit your head or something making it hard to sleep? ‘Cause beside the arm, you look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

 

"Yeah, something woke me up and I kind of gave up on sleep," Bucky said.

 

"You can sleep when you're dead, or so I'm told," Anthony returned to what he was doing, and before Bucky knew it, a latte appeared in front of him.

 

"When you get here this early, you get to be a taste tester," Anthony told him, sipping his own latte.

 

Bucky picked up the cup and took a sip, pausing before taking a longer drink, even though it burned his mouth slightly.

 

"Good?" Anthony asked, his eyebrows quirking.

 

"Hell, yes! What did you put in this?" Bucky asked, looking at the cup for any clues.

 

"I'm not telling, and I'm glad you like it. What happened to your arm?"

 

Bucky took another drink and told him, "It got crushed between the building and me when the taxi hit me. Doctors couldn't save most of it. I guess it was broken all to pieces and ended up with a massive infection that threatened to give me sepsis, so they amputated."

 

"Where's your prosthesis?" Anthony wasn't looking at him, but Bucky didn't mind. Anthony was a quirky guy, but he also was a dream to his regulars, sending out drinks when someone needed a pick-me-up, or giving them free drinks under the guise of taste testing his latest creations. Bucky liked Anthony and didn't mind his curiosity.

 

"It sucks. It's temporary, until I can get fitted for a more customized one, and it's plastic and I look like I always want to shake hands with it because it's bent at the elbow and the hand is straight, and I hate it and it rubs my stump raw even with the padding, and let's not even talk about how the straps around my torso play havoc with my skin," Bucky grumbled.

 

"Sounds like the typical prosthesis," Anthony remarked, "Well, what do you think?"

 

"About…?"

 

"A custom prosthesis. No, Bucky, the drink. What do you think?"

 

Bucky looked down at his cup, where the last sip of coffee looked lonely at the bottom. He drank it and said, "It's amazing. It tastes delicious, I love the way you balanced the darkness of the roast with the milk, and it doesn't need any sweeteners because it's very drinkable as it is."

 

"Thank you, I've been trying to get the balance right for a couple of days now. Here, have another," Anthony handed him another cup, "and let me get to work."

 

"Thanks, Anthony," Bucky told him sincerely.

 

"You're welcome. Good to have you back. Maybe now Barton can quick moping and Steve will come back."

 

Bucky wasn't at all surprised Anthony knew who he hung out with. Anthony was very smart and observant, but he didn't know everything. "Steve, uh, Steve had pneumonia this past month."

 

Anthony grimaced and said, "Thanks for telling me. That little shit, he knows I like to know what's going on. Barton told me about you, but not Steve."

 

"Steve probably made him promise to keep it quiet," Bucky said.

 

Anthony shot him a glance before nodding and changing the subject, "I gotta work. Shoo, go do your thing."

 

Bucky took his latte over to his usual place and set himself up, choosing to work on the Shield storyline rather than the Hydra one.

 

Ideas flowed, and Bucky typed as quickly as he could. Around seven o'clock, Clint stumbled in, waved to Bucky, got a huge cup of coffee, and set himself up at his usual table. Bucky checked in with him and approved of how bright the colors were for Cap. Clint deliberately made Cap stand out from the backgrounds with bold blues, judicious white, and bright reds, while he'd made the Red Skull stand out with darker red, and then dark colors for the rest of his body. The contrast between his face and his body was very eye-catching. Bucky approved, loving the caricature of Johann Schmidt Steve and Clint had made the Red Skull to be. He hoped it was enough to keep Dark Line from taking Shield to court over copyright infringement.

 

Don and Jane showed up shortly after Clint, Don escorting Jane to the counter and exchanging a few sharp comments with Anthony before heading over to the bike section of the shop to work on a bike that was up on the rack.  He stopped by Bucky's chair to say hello.

 

"Bucky! I heard you had a terrible accident. I am glad to see you again, and looking well," Don greeted him.

 

Bubky craned his neck up to look at the tall, blond man. "Don. Thanks, I'm glad to be here."

 

Don leaned down and told him, "I heard that your bike was totaled. When you are ready to get a new one, please come and talk to me. I can help you."

 

Bucky was touched. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Don, had really only noticed him because the guy was really tall and courting Jane, who was really tiny and the contrast between them was eye-catching. Don was courteous to everyone, but anyone with eyes could tell he was head over heels for Jane, and he treated her with an old-fashioned respect.

 

"Thanks, Don, I'll do that," Bucky replied.

 

"See that you do," Don told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder before continuing to the bike repair area.

 

Steve came in around eight and set his stuff next to Bucky, leaving to get his tea and coming back to set up. He'd chosen Bucky's left side, so he didn't interfere with Bucky's remaining hand, and although Bucky felt shy about his missing arm, but after half an hour of Steve leaning against him and commenting on what Bucky had written, he no longer thought about it unless he needed to push his hair away from his face, and had to stop typing to do so, but Steve had a way of making the oddities of his life feel normal and right. They worked on Cap's storyline until ten in the morning, when Bucky switched to his Dark Line account.

 

To: JBBarnes@darkline.com, JBRumlow@darkline.com, JSRollins@darkline.com

From: AGPierce@darkline.com

Re: Mr. Barnes' rehabilitation

 

Until Mr. Barnes is fully recovered from his traumatic accident, Mr. Rumlow will do story and line art, while Mr. Rollins does lettering and colors. Upon receipt of a doctor's letter allowing him to resume work, Mr. Barnes will be reinstated as the writer of HYDRA.

 

-Pierce

 

Bucky turned his notebook to Steve and let him read the email. 

 

Steve nodded, then asked, "When do you go to the doctor?"

 

"I have an appointment with my doctor on Friday, and then with the prosthesis doc next Wednesday," Bucky replied.

 

"Don't get cleared by your doctor until after you've got the prosthesis done," Steve warned him.

 

"Okay, but why?" Bucky asked.

 

"Because as long as you're not cleared, you're employed by Dark Line, you have insurance. As soon as you send that doctor's note, Pierce will fire you," Steve told him.

 

"Oh," Bucky said, "thanks for the heads up, Steve."

 

Steve smiled grimly, "This one's all on Nick. He's dealt with Pierce before and knows how he works."

 

"Still, thanks for telling me."

 

"Any time, Bucky."

 

For the next few days, Bucky continued his new routine. He'd wake up early in the morning, feeling as if something were off, and get up to get dressed and head over to Sharp Pressed. Anthony would be there, they'd share a new recipe and some quips, then Bucky would start working and as more people trickled in, Anthony would vanish into the back. 

 

Every few days, Bucky would somehow sleep through the night and wake up around seven in the morning, feeling both better and worse. Better for the sleep, and worse because it demonstrated how sleep-deprived he was getting by waking so early most mornings.


	4. What's Going On?

Bucky's first appointment with the prosthetic clinic had been to return the temporary one and to check the condition of his stump. While he was there, they also did measurements of his entire body.

 

"Well, Mr. Barnes, you're doing well. You need to continue with your stretches and exercises, and I'm going to suggest that you start a yoga class. We've gotten word that you qualify for the Stark Foundation, so your next appointment will be with them," the nurse was going over Bucky's results.

 

"Wait, Stark Foundation, what?" Bucky interrupted.

 

"Yes, they have a prosthetics clinic. It's mostly for veterans, but they're working on a new range of prosthetics and you have the right profile for their program. Congratulations, Mr. Barnes, it's quite an honor to work with the Stark Foundation. They cover all your costs associated with the prosthetic, and provide physical and mental therapy as well."

 

"Oh," was all Bucky could think to say.

 

"Your next appointment will be Monday, at their clinic. Do you need the address?" she asked him.

 

"Yes, please, if that wouldn't be too much trouble," Bucky answered. He was dazed by the idea that he would be getting a Stark prosthesis.

 

When he walked out, with the details of the appointment carefully input to his phone in case he lost the appointment card, he stood on the sidewalk in a daze.  He really wanted to tell somebody about this incredible bit of luck, and he really wanted that person to be Steve. Not Becky, not yet, or any of his other friends, but Steve. Bucky pulled out his phone and tapped a speed dial.

 

"Hello? Oh, hey, Bucky," Steve's voice sounded a little distant.

 

"Steve, I'm getting a Stark prosthesis!" Bucky blurted out.

 

Sounds of fumbling, then Steve's voice came on much louder and clearer, "What? A  _ Stark? _ That's fantastic news, Bucky! Congratulations!"

 

"Yeah, thanks, I'm a little stunned, to be honest, and hoping they'll keep me on when I meet with them on Monday," Bucky confided.

 

"Buck, they'd be crazy not to take you. You're doing all your PT, you're working out, your stamina has improved, you're a great candidate for their program!" Steve was talking so quickly Bucky had to really focus on the meanings of his words.  Steve thought he was doing that well?  Bucky felt like a catastrophe most days, reeling from one point to another and collapsing once he'd crossed the finish line each day.

 

"Buck, you're fantastic. Now get over here so I can hug you," Steve told him.

 

Bucky choked, then started laughing and crying, leaning against the glass of the building, saying, "Steve? I'll get there as soon as I can."

 

"You're amazing, Buck, breath in and hold it, slow release." Steve sounded really worried.  

 

Bucky struggled to follow his lead, breathing in time with Steve's exaggerated breaths over the phone.  Once he'd calmed down, he said, "Thanks, Steve. Okay.  I'll see you in half an hour?"

 

"See you then," Steve replied, and they hung up.

 

Bucky called an Uber, not wanting to deal with public transportation right now, and gave the driver Steve's address.

 

When he arrived, he buzzed Steve and was let into the building quickly.  When he reached Steve's floor, Steve was waiting at his door for him, shifting from foot to foot.  Bucky walked to him and Steve pulled him into a hug, holding on as tightly as Bucky was holding him.  They clung together, no words necessary between them.  Finally, Steve loosened his grip and Bucky straightened up.

 

"C'mon in?" Steve asked.

 

Bucky followed him in and shucked off his shoes, then followed Steve to the couch.  Steve sat down, and Bucky curled around him, pillowing his head on the arm of the couch and laying his body across Steve's lap.

 

"Comfy?" Steve asked, amused.

 

"I'm exhausted and just so happy to see you," Bucky told him, lethargy rapidly stealing over him.

 

Steve stroked his hair back from his face and said, "Sleep, Buck. I'll keep you safe."

 

~~~~

 

Bucky slept for half an hour before being woken by Steve shifting slightly under him.  

 

"Mwha?" Bucky mumbled.

 

"Buck, I need to move," Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky shifted off Steve's lap and let him get up. Steve disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with a mug in hand. He waved it under Bucky's nose, metaphorically, and Bucky pushed himself upright to follow the smell of the coffee.  Once he was sitting and not in danger of losing his balance, Steve held the mug and let Bucky grasp the handle.

 

"You're a godsend," Bucky muttered as he took his first sip.

 

Steve laughed and sat next to Bucky.  Bucky leaned into him slightly.

 

"So, how did it go?" Steve wanted to know.

 

"Good," Bucky replied. "You were right, they think I'm doing a good job of regaining muscle and learning to work with my new center of gravity."   
  


"What about the prosthesis?"

 

"Well, they do things differently at the Stark Foundation. Prosthetics are actually integrated with your body, so they don't just sit there, nor are they detachable. Once you get one, you keep it. I mean, sort of. They're talking about implanting a socket into the remains of my arm, and the prosthetic will attach to the socket. The cool thing is, the socket will be surgically grafted to use my remaining nerves and muscles. They're going to remove what's left of my humerus with the socket. They'll also need to do work on my shoulder, possibly my collarbone and shoulder blade.  The arm itself will be light, and they shouldn't have to take any more muscle."  Bucky paused.

 

"That's...that's a lot, Bucky," Steve said, gripping Bucky's leg and giving it a squeeze.

 

"It is," Bucky agreed, "which is why they want to work with me, show me what it will be like, before they do anything."

 

"Okay, when do they do this?" Steve asked.

 

"Um, my next appointment is Thursday," Bucky answered, "and I'm a little scared."

 

Steve took the mug from Bucky's hand, put it on the table, and pulled him into a hug.  Bucky tucked his face into Steve's shoulder and clung.

 

"I'll go with you, if you'd like," Steve offered.

 

"Please. Yes, please."

 

"It's a date," Steve told him, stroking Bucky's back.

 

Bucky choked out a laugh and stayed where he was until he felt more like facing the world.  Steve was his rock in the uncertain ocean of life right now, and Bucky didn't know if his feelings were real or a product of his recent trauma.

 

When they finally broke apart, Bucky was feeling better but his mind was aswirl with questions. Steve made them a late lunch, sandwiches and apple slices, and took his plate to his drafting table. Bucky stayed on the couch and just watched Steve work, letting his mind wander. He finally roused himself enough to fire off a text message to his sister.

 

                                                          Hey, I got news today **: me**

**Becks:** Hit me.

                                   I maybe qualify for a Stark prosthetic **: me**

**Becks:** WHAT?! Really?

                                                                          Really really **: me**

**Becks:** Details!

                            I'll know more next Monday after my app't **: me**

**Becks:** You'd better keep me in the loop!

                                                                                      I will **: me**

  
  


When the afternoon had passed and the light was too dim for Steve to work comfortably, they bestirred themselves and went out to eat dinner at a small diner a few blocks away, then Steve invited Bucky back to his place to sleep.

 

"Just sleep, mind you," Steve told him, "but I think I'd like to know where you are tonight."

 

"Ditto," Bucky replied.

 

Steve had spare toothbrushes, and Bucky slept in his t-shirt and shorts, and Steve dug out a cot that he pushed close to his twin bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small chest of drawers, and the cot easily fit into the space next to Steve's bed. They slept holding hands, and Bucky woke up the next morning feeling better than he had in weeks.

 

~~~~

The next appointment at the Stark clinic was mid-morning, and Steve went with Bucky as promised. When they were brought back to the exam room, the nurse took Bucky's vital signs and entered them into the computer, then told them the doctor would be in to see them in a few minutes.

 

However, when the doctor arrived, he introduced himself as  Dr. Lewdowski and told them to come with him. He led them to a large open room with various PT and exercise equipment in it, and brought them to a table at the end of the room. A small group of doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals were gathered around the table.

 

Dr. Lewdowski gently pushed some of his colleagues aside and said, "Mr. Stark has made a brand new type of prosthetic, Mr. Barnes, and this was sent over this morning. It's specifically made for you."

 

On the table, in a case, was a gleaming silver metal arm. 

 

"Um, I haven't had any surgeries," Bucky said, eying the arm.

 

Dr. Lewdowski nodded and said, "That is the beauty of this. It doesn't require any surgery."

 

"But how is that possible?" Steve asked.  Bucky felt his mouth fall open as he gaped at the doctor.

 

Dr. Lewdowski picked up the arm and showed them how it had a hollow end, where Bucky's stump would comfortably fit.

 

"So, it clamps on?" Bucky poked at the cavity curiously.  The arm hummed to life, and Bucky skittered back, startled.

 

The doctor said, "My understanding of Mr. Stark's note is that it fits over the remainder of your arm and simply works. Mr. Stark mentioned that it might feel as if you're getting a slight jolt of electricity, but it shouldn't hurt."

 

Bucky looked at Steve, who looked askance at the arm, but gave Bucky a shrug when he noticed Bucky looking at him.

 

"What the hell," Bucky muttered, and swung around so he could fit his stump into the recessed portion at the upper end of the arm.  Dr. Lewdowski helped get the arm into the correct position.

 

The soft interior of the cavity squeezed gently over Bucky's stump and a tingle ran through his arm, shoulder, and torso. The plating at the top of the arm extended and wrapped itself around Bucky's shoulder.  When it stopped, Bucky looked at the doctor.

 

"Wiggle your fingers," Dr. Lewdowski suggested.

 

Bucky did, and started when the fingers of the prosthetic moved at the same time as his other hand.  He tuned the doctor out and began experimenting, curling the arm up, moving the hand around, twirling his wrists and moving his arm in various ways, testing the motion.  When he finally tuned in again, the entire group was watching him with various expressions of awe and excitement.

 

"How's it feel, Bucky?" Steve asked.

 

"Amazing," Bucky told him.

 

Dr. Lewdowski grinned and stepped forward, saying, "We need to test the strength and such, but this is astonishing."

 

Another doctor nodded and said, "Stark's a genius, alright. What a leap forward! I hope this works out, Mr. Barnes. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that I really want to know if you have any problems, because you are our test case for this prosthetic."

 

"Uh, sure," Bucky answered.

 

The same doctor continued, "It's been years since Mr. Stark added anything new to our range of prosthetics. After he’d gone missing, you know, I thought that was going to be the end of this program. You are very lucky, Mr. Barnes! The man is really a genius, and this is going to open so many doors for people."

 

The group dispersed, and Dr. Lewdowski spent the the next hour going over tests with Bucky. He showed him the small button tucked in the armpit that told the arm to release, and they went through the process until Bucky could remove the arm without dropping it. They tested the strength of the arm, its dexterity, and Bucky's ability to control the arm. Bucky could feel pressure through the arm, but not much more than that. He could tell if something was hot or cold, but it didn't seem to affect how the arm functioned. Dr. Lewdowski told him that the arm would learn and his ability to handle small things without crushing them would improve the more he used the arm.

 

"Probably best to shower without it," Dr. Lewdowski said, "but it has its own power source and Stark says it should be good for years. Obviously, we'll need to see you to tune it, but it's meant to be…"

 

"Hooked up and going?" suggested Steve.

 

"Pretty much," the doctor agreed.

 

Once they were finally done, Bucky and Steve were allowed to go after Bucky signed a bunch of forms that boiled down to him having custody of Stark tech and being responsible for it.

 

"Whew," Steve said after they were back on the street.

 

"Yeah." Bucky agreed. "Coffee?"

 

"Let's go," Steve replied.  They hoisted their bags and headed back to their neighborhood.

 

Sharp Pressed had a few different faces, but their spot was still open and Steve set their bags down and set up their computers while Bucky went to get them drinks. He nodded to Don as he stepped up to the counter. Don was talking to Jane, but they paused their conversation as Bucky gave Jane his order. Don gave him a friendly smile, though his eyes never strayed from Jane's face for too long, until he noticed Anthony giving them an inscrutable look, whereupon his expression hardened. Bucky glanced between them, but Don just shook his head and Bucky let it drop. He accepted his and Steve's drinks, letting Jane get back to her conversation with Don. 

 

Bucky and Steve slipped into comfortableness, working together on their next issue for Shield, and Bucky breathed deeply, absorbing the idea that his life could be better than it had been.  Steve leaned against him and bumped shoulders before continuing to work on the line art. Bucky smiled to himself and bent over his word processor.

 

~~~~

 

Bucky woke up by sitting straight up, panting. Again, he had no idea what had woken him, but his skin felt clammy and he felt unsettled. After getting his breathing calmed, he tossed aside the blankets and made his way to the bathroom.

 

Dark bags made his eyes look dull, and his skin was pale. This was the fifth night in a row he'd woken early, and he was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. He didn't have the stamina he'd had before his accident and he felt adrift, at the end of his reserves.

 

Bucky looked away from the mirror, breaths now even. He showered and pulled on clothes before gathering his stuff and walking to Sharp Pressed. He missed biking, but hadn't had the energy to look into getting a new bike so walking was his main mode of transportation right now. His doctor appointments were still on-going, and he hadn't been cleared for work yet because his insomnia was interfering with his recovery.  His new arm was awesome, but it couldn't make up for him not sleeping, and his heart rate, blood pressure, and blood chemistry were all showing the signs of his stress.

 

Anthony was behind the counter with Bucky's usual order was waiting for him on the granite top. Bucky gratefully took a long drink and then stared at Anthony.

 

Anthony returned the stare, looking Bucky over from head to toe.

 

"You look like crap, Bucky," Anthony finally said.

 

"I feel like crap, Anthony."

 

"What's going on? You never used to be here this early, and I'll be honest, I thought you'd sleep a lot more after your, uh, brush with death and all, but here you are, intruding on my alone time."

 

Bucky took another drink and replied, "I keep waking up, panicking, and I don't know why."

 

"Bad dreams?" Anthony suggested.

 

Bucky shrugged, "If it is, I don't remember them. Something feels off, I don't know."

 

"Huh. Well, welcome to the night owl association," Anthony said, "where it sucks to be us."

 

"Do you have bad dreams?" Bucky asked him.

 

Anthony fussed around the machines before replying, "Now, why would you think that? Maybe I'm a genius that has a lousy sleep schedule."

 

Bucky gave him a weak smile and said, "Pretty sure you're a genius, at least with coffee, and while your sleep schedule might be whacked, I'm also pretty sure you have some issues." He waved his hand and continued, "I'm also absolutely sure it's none of my business, and I'm grateful you're here and helping me."

 

"I've done nothing to help you, Buckmeister," Anthony said sharply.

 

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Bucky told him, picking up his latte, "and I'll keep leaning on you for support while I get my feet under me. Later, Anthony."

 

Anthony waved him off, and Bucky went to his usual seat and slumped there, sipping at his coffee, unable to focus enough to do anything. When Steve joined him a couple hours later, Bucky still hadn't managed to do any work. He was actually sleeping, his head pillowed on his bag, slumped in the chair. Steve dropped his stuff next to him and Bucky started awake, staring blearily at Steve's bag.

 

"Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve asked worriedly, leaning over Bucky with his hand on his back.

 

"Woke up too early," Bucky muttered, putting his head back down.

 

"Again? Isn't this, I don't know, the fifth or sixth night in a row?" Steve said.

 

"Something like that," Bucky agreed.

 

Steve disappeared, and Bucky was too tired to figure out where he'd gone until Clint came over with Steve.

 

"Tell me about this waking up stuff," Clint demanded, taking the seat on the other side of Bucky.

 

So Bucky did. He described how he felt when he woke up each night, and how it seemed to be getting earlier each day. Clint was grim-faced through the recitation, and nodded when Bucky was done.

 

"So, I have an idea what this is, and with your permission, I'd like to take care of it with you," Clint said quietly.

 

Bucky stared at him before pushing his brain to function, "Uh, sure, Clint."

 

"Great. Look, do what you can today, but when you're ready to go, grab me and I'll go with you. Steve, too."

 

"Okay," Bucky answered.

 

He and Steve managed to get another page written and sketched out before Bucky could no longer contribute anything. Steve had been texting all the while, but Bucky was too tired to ask him what was going on. When they wrapped up, Steve went to get Clint while Bucky fumbled his stuff into his bag. Clint and a petite woman joined him and Steve.

 

"Guys, this is Tasha. Tasha, this is Bucky and Steve," Clint introduced them. "Tasha's going to help me."

 

Bucky looked at the woman and blurted, "I know you!"

 

She smiled up at him and said, "Yes, you do."

 

"That whole mess with Rumlow trying to, uh…" Bucky trailed off.

 

"Rape Sharon?” Tasha stated matter-of-factly. “Yes, I was there. He'd roofied her, because otherwise she would have taken his head off. As it was, I took care of her while you took care of him. Thanks for that, by the way. I never got to say it. You kind of vanished from campus." 

 

Bucky shrugged, "I kind of killed off my circle of friends, going against Rumlow."

 

"Then they weren't really friends, were they?" Steve said, looking up at Bucky.

 

"No, they weren't," Bucky answered, returning Steve's look.

 

"Yeah, okay, we're all agreed Rumlow's bad news," Clint said, "so, let's go prove it."

 

Bucky was confused until they arrived at his apartment and Steve kept talking to him about going out to do landscape sketches while Clint and Tasha went through his apartment as if they were looking for something. He was even more confused when they showed him small black buttons placed throughout his apartment, in every room but the bathroom. After they showed him the buttons, they put them back where they'd found them. All the while, Steve kept talking, and Bucky would occasionally reply yes when Steve would silently push him to.

 

After Clint and Tasha rejoined them, Steve took Bucky to his room and packed a set of clothes for him, all the while chatting about sketching.

 

Bucky was horribly confused, but trusted Steve and Clint. After packing, Steve swept him, his duffle, and his messenger bag out of the apartment, leaving Clint and Tasha behind.

 

Once they were on the street, Bucky stopped walking about twenty feet from his building's door.

 

"What is going on?" he asked Steve, confusion clouding his face and voice.

 

"Rumlow's bugged your apartment. Or, at least, we think it's Rumlow. He's using those mics to spy on you and to wake you up. You're coming with me and staying the night at my apartment, and Clint and Tasha are going to take care of whoever is waking you up early," Steve told him, crowding close and keeping his voice low.

 

"How?" Bucky wanted to know.

 

"I don't know," Steve said, "but I've heard about Tasha from Clint. She's, uh, well, she works for the government, I think, and she's not someone you want to fight against."

 

Bucky looked back at his apartment building, then at Steve, shrugged, and started walking.

 

"Bucky?" Steve asked, hurrying to catch up.

 

"If Clint wants to take care of the problem and he's got the right person to help, I'm going to let him. If this," he indicated his arm, "has taught me anything, it's that asking for help is not a weakness, but a strength."

 

Steve laughed and shoved his duffle at him, and they made their way to Steve's place. Once there, Steve pulled out the cot and set Bucky up in his bedroom. They worked together to fix a meal, then Steve worked on his art while Bucky used his Netflix account to watch documentaries. Steve had headphones for the television, which Bucky used so Steve could work. The afternoon passed with Bucky drifting into a doze and watching television and Steve sketching at his drafting table, set up in front of the window to catch the light. After a light supper, they got ready for bed and Bucky gratefully drifted into a deep sleep.

 

~~~~

 

Surprisingly, Bucky slept for eleven hours and awoke feeling, for once, as if everything was alright in his world. Steve was out in the living room, working at his drafting table, when Bucky stumbled out of the bedroom. Steve looked up and grinned as Bucky stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. When he re-emerged and flopped on the couch, Steve laughed softly.

 

"Feeling better, Bucky?"

 

"Yes. Yes, is that what it's like to sleep?" Bucky peered out from under his arm, which was across his eyes.

 

"So I'm told," Steve answered. "So, do you want to hear what happened last night?"

 

"Yes," Bucky said, "and no. How bad is it?"

 

"Well, a guy named Jack Rollins is in jail," Steve told him, "and singing like a bird."

 

Bucky pushed himself up and wrapped a throw around himself, then looked at Steve.

 

"So," Steve began, "Clint played the part of Bucky, getting ready for bed and stuff, and then he and Tasha just laid on top of your bed. About two in the morning, whispers started up. Now, according to Clint, they were really quiet, really hard to hear, barely above background levels of noise. Gradually, they got louder. Clint says that it wasn't ever something you could actually understand, except for a few words here and there. Mind you, those words were, uh, not healthy, and then, about four in the morning, the whispers became a single, loud yell and then it was quiet."

 

"What do you mean, not healthy?" Bucky asked.

 

Steve hesitated, and Bucky felt his heart sink.

 

“Steve,” he pressed. When Steve looked up and met Bucky’s eyes, Bucky could see the pain in the light blue irises.

 

“Tell me,” Bucky murmured.

 

"Things such as 'you're worthless', 'kill yourself', stuff like that," Steve answered quietly.

 

Bucky absorbed that for a time, then shifted and said, "Well. I guess that explains why I was feeling so awful."

 

"You think?" Steve said, before his voice grew louder, moving away from that moment. "Anyway, Tasha tracked the signal and found a guy in the apartment across the road from you, running the equipment that beamed the signal into your apartment. Tasha had a warrant, don't ask me how, and was able to have the guy, Rollins, arrested."

 

"Jeez," Bucky whispered, curling his arms over his head and burying his face in the throw.

 

Steve came over and tucked himself next to Bucky. "I'm here, I'm here to help you, Buck. You're not alone."

 

Bucky blindly groped, and Steve grabbed his hand and held it. They sat, each drawing strength from the other, for a long time.

 

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity for Bucky. He had to make a statement to the police, his new arm needed adjusting which required a visit to the Stark clinic, he had to prepare himself to quit his job at Dark Line, and he had to keep working on Cap's story line.  

 

Clint had come in and removed all the little microphones in Bucky's apartment, and Bucky was sleeping better than he had since before his accident. However, his body was used to waking early by now, and Bucky didn't fight it. He enjoyed his time at Sharp Pressed before anyone else got there. He and Anthony would trade quips, and Bucky appreciated the support Anthony gave him, coming to enjoy Anthony's sarcastic view of the world and his odd habit of giving people nicknames. It made Bucky smile as he tried to figure out what particular trait of each person had sparked Anthony's imagination.

 

Anthony actually helped him draft his resignation letter to Dark Line, helping him frame it as an inability to meet the demands of the job after his accident.  The human resources department at Dark Line sent him all the paperwork to continue his health insurance through the company, plus the usual stack of paper that came with leaving a company these days. Only after he'd signed everything and returned it via certified mail did he write the email to Pierce and Rumlow, telling them that he quit.

 

Finally, Bucky felt as though he was getting his life on track. He started spending more time with Clint and Steve, although Clint had other obligations so often it was just Bucky and Steve. They started walking around their neighborhood, which was good exercise for Bucky and an excuse for Steve to practice his sketching. They'd often find a park and sit, Steve sketching and Bucky giving running commentary on what the people around them were doing. His ideas were deliberately funny, and often he ended up laughing too hard to continue talking. Steve's sketches went from quick character studies and motion to caricatures based on Bucky's silly comments. However, sometimes they were brainstorming ideas for Shield, and if felt good to be out in the sunshine. It made Bucky feel lighter than when he'd worked for Dark Line, as if the sun were not simply physical, but also metaphorical.

 

Steve made him feel lighter, too. He accepted Bucky as he was, without comment, and Bucky would now say Steve was his best friend.  They were spending evenings together, too, and those times became highlights of Bucky's day. They had similar tastes in movies, but different enough that watching new titles led to discussions of their reasons for liking or disliking the movie.

 

One evening after working on the comic, Steve invited Bucky to stay and watch a new movie with him,  _ The Martian _ . Bucky agreed and went to the corner bodega to get food for them. When he came back, Steve had cleared away all their materials, stacking Bucky's on his bag, and had queued the movie. Bucky set the food on the coffee table while Steve set out water for them. The movie was interesting with good characters and a great plot. It moved quickly, and had enough science in it for the geek in Bucky to be very happy.

 

"Hey, Buck?" Steve said.

 

"Yeah, Steve?"

 

"That Beck guy looks like you." Steve hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.

 

Bucky looked at the screen, then back to Steve. "No, he doesn't. I'm much better looking."

 

"Says you," was Steve's cheeky response.

 

Bucky opened his mouth to rebut that claim, shooting Steve a squinty-eyed glare, and Steve cracked, folding over and howling with laughter, his finger shooting out to poke Bucky’s side. Bucky yelped and dived in, trying to tickle Steve in retaliation, but Steve had wedged himself against the arm of the couch and curled over. Bucky finally got a couple of fingers under Steve's clenched arm and raked them across his ribs, causing Steve to howl 'Uncle!'. 

 

Bucky pulled away and looked at Steve, flushed from their wrestling and laughing like a loon and thought 'I love him'. He reached out and stroked a hand over Steve's back, reveling in the feeling and grateful to have found such a friend as Steve.

 

Steve caught his eye and they shared a smile, small and soft.

 

They turned back to the film, skipping back on the movie to get what they'd missed, and Bucky sat in a haze of warmth as Steve pressed against him while they finished the movie. The glow lasted until Bucky walked home and crawled into bed, dazed with his new knowledge.

 

~~~~

 

Bucky was startled awake violently when his apartment door was kicked open, unable to move off his couch before Rumlow was over him, wrapping a hand around his neck and jabbing his other hand into a nerve in Bucky's leg. In pain, confused, Bucky struggled against Rumlow, who leaned down and hissed, "You stupid bastard. You've caused nothing but trouble since you started working on for us, and I'm done with your crap."

 

Bucky lashed out, his new arm slamming into the side of Rumlow's head. Rumlow paused for a moment before turning back to Bucky.

 

"You think that's going to stop me? I'm stronger than pain, you asshole," Rumlow tightened his grip.

 

Bucky absorbed that statement before frowning up at Rumlow. Rumlow laughed as he again tightened his grip.  Bucky wrapped the fingers of his prosthetic around Rumlow's hand and squeezed. Rumlow howled as bones broke, and Bucky lashed out with his legs, throwing Rumlow across the room. He rolled to his feet, coughing as he could breathe again.

 

Tasha entered the room at a run and jumped onto Bucky's coffee table, using it as a launching point to get on Rumlow's shoulders and wrap her legs around his neck. Rumlow reached up to grab her and pull her off, but froze at the sound of a round being chambered in a gun.

 

"Tash, off him. Move, asshole, and the wall will be wearing your brains," Nick Fury looked like a man willing and able to carry through on his statement.

 

Tasha hopped off and pulled Rumlow's hands behind him, using handcuffs to keep his hands in position. She reached up and pressed on Rumlow's head, guiding him down to kneel on the floor.

 

"Why not zipties?" Bucky wheezed as he sat down heavily on the floor.

 

"Rumlow knows how to break them," Tasha answered.

 

Nick was talking on the phone and keeping the pistol leveled at Rumlow's head.  Bucky couldn't concentrate enough to understand what was going on, but soon after Nick put his phone away, a group of men in black uniforms came into the hallway behind him and entered Bucky's apartment, taking custody of Rumlow. Tasha went with them, and Nick followed the group into the hall, having a brief conversation before coming back to Bucky.

 

"I'm just going to hang out with you until the locksmith shows up, okay?" Nick said as he seated himself on the coffee table opposite Bucky.

 

"Yeah, just … what happened?" Bucky touched his throat.

 

Nick got up and rummaged in Bucky's freezer before coming back with a ziploc bag of ice wrapped in a towel and handing it to Bucky. The cold felt good against his bruised throat, and Bucky looked expectantly at Nick.

 

"Last night, in following up on Rollins' confession, Alexander Pierce was arrested for violating the federal laws against hate speech, since it turned out that he had allowed a closed forum at Dark Line's website that advocated for, and instructed people, on how to do violence to the institutions of these United States. Obviously, the DA is going to work with the feds, and the case has to be proven, but it was enough to arrest Pierce and Rumlow. However, Rumlow got away from the arresting officers, and we had a hunch he'd show up here. For some reason, he blames you for everything that's gone wrong," Nick told him.

 

A clatter in the hall preceded Steve's abrupt entry into the apartment. Bucky held out his hand, and Steve came forward to grab it.  Bucky tugged, slightly, and Steve sat beside him, looking him over from head to toe.  He pulled the ice pack away from Bucky's throat before allowing him to put it back, and turned to Nick.

 

"What happened, Nick?" Steve asked.

 

"I was just telling Barnes that Rumlow hates him and attacked him after Pierce was arrested last night. Rumlow got away and came here. Tasha alerted me and hung out at my place until we heard Barnes' door being kicked in. We got here quickly, but Rumlow moves fast."

 

"Why does he hate Bucky so much?" Steve wanted to know.

 

"Because he feels that Barnes has always gotten what Rumlow felt he deserved, and in his mind, taking Barnes out of the picture meant that he would get everything Barnes had," Nick told him.

 

"How do you know that?" Steve said, frowning at Nick.

 

"Psychological profile worked up before the DA tried to arrest him," Nick answered, "and Tasha told me."

 

Steve gestured, and Nick continued, "Tasha is … well, kind of my adopted daughter. She's working for some good people, and they've had their eyes on Dark Line for some time. They needed someone to infiltrate the organization, expose what was going on. Pierce didn't trust me enough, so I pretended to get sick and brought Barnes in."

 

"Why Bucky?" Steve asked.

 

"He had good ideas and a talent for writing. I like him. I hoped he could get into Dark Line in a way I couldn't. He succeeded beyond our hopes, and Rumlow's hatred of him made Rumlow sloppy. That sloppiness gave us openings and allowed us see where we needed to look."

 

Bucky cleared his throat and rasped, "Does this mean Shield isn't real, either?"

 

Nick chuckled, "No, it's real, and you both have jobs there. I won't be running it, though. A friend of mine that wants to retire will be running the company for a while as we decide what we're going to do with the business."

 

The locksmith showed up soon after, and Nick went to deal with him while Steve looked at Bucky.

 

"You okay?" Steve asked.

 

Bucky nodded.

 

"I think a doctor would be a good idea, Bucky," Steve said worriedly, looking at the plum-colored bruises showing up on Bucky's throat.

 

Nick came back in the room and said, "When the apartment is secure, we need to go to the police station."

 

"Nick! He's been choked, he needs to be looked at by a doctor. Look at the bruises!" Steve protested.

 

"I know that, Rogers, but that report needs filed," Nick told him.

 

"Doctor first, then police," Steve argued.

 

Nick looked at him and Steve raised his chin challengingly. Nick sighed and let his shoulders slump slightly, "Fine, we'll do it your way."

 

"Thank you," Steve snapped, and started gathering Bucky's wallet and notebook, shoving them in his messenger bag and then reaching for Bucky's hand.  Bucky stood and followed him toward the door.

 

"Nick, you stay here and finish with the locksmith," Steve announced, "I'm taking Bucky to the critical care clinic, and we'll come back here when we're done and you can go with us to the police station." He scooped Bucky's keys out of the bowl by the door and swept out with Bucky in tow.

 

Clinics were much faster than emergency departments at hospitals, and Bucky was done an hour later. He hadn't had anything broken, just bruised, and he was told to continue the icing and use over-the-counter pain medication as needed to help reduce swelling and pain. He also was counselled to eat soft foods for the next few days, until swallowing no longer hurt. He took all the paperwork they gave him and tucked it into his bag before rejoining Steve in the waiting room and heading back to his building.

 

They let themselves in with Bucky's keys and went to Nick's apartment and knocked.  Nick opened the door and handed them the new keys, which Bucky immediately put on his key ring before they headed to the police station together.

 

By the end of the day, Bucky was reeling with exhaustion. Steve seemed to be continuing under sheer determination alone, and even Nick looked at little tired. Back at their building, Nick parted ways to go to his own place, and Bucky tried his new key on the door to his place. It worked, and Bucky led Steve inside. They left their shoes near the door and meandered to the couch, collapsing on it and curling together.

 

"Stay the night?" Bucky croaked.

 

"Just sleep?" Steve asked.

 

"Yeah," Bucky replied.

 

"Okay," Steve agreed, and they dragged themselves off the couch and got ready for bed, collapsing on Bucky's queen sized bed and falling quickly asleep. 

 

~~~~

 

The next morning, Bucky woke early and tried to extricate himself from Steve. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out, and they both stumbled around each other, getting showered and dressed before Bucky dragged Steve out to go to Sharp Pressed.  

 

Anthony greeted them, but he wasn't alone. The big blond guy, Don, was also there, but he was talking quietly with Jane, one of the shop's baristas.

 

"Morning, boys, how...amazing to see you here. Together! And everything!"

 

Bucky gave Anthony his best unimpressed look, whereas Steve just frowned at Anthony.

 

"Anthony, your assumptions are crude," Steve started.

 

Anthony waved him off, "I'm pulling your chain, Mighty Mite. Bucky here has already told me you two aren't doing the horizontal tango, unlike some!"

 

Don straightened and asked, "Are you addressing me?"

 

Anthony shrugged, his expression too innocent, and continued making coffees.  Don's face darkened and he stood straight.  Jane grabbed his arm and tugged at it, but Don simply clasped her hand, gave it a kiss, and released her.

 

"Whoa," Bucky said, getting in front of Don, "we don't need a fight this early in the morning."

 

"He impugned the honor of my beloved, Jane, and that cannot stand," Don said firmly.

 

"Don, Anthony runs his mouth at everyone," Bucky started.

 

"I do not care. Jane is the light of my life, and I will not allow anyone to speak ill of her," Don said.

 

"Okay, big guy, sorry about that. I shouldn't have said anything about how you absorb the attention of my best barista even when you're not here," Anthony said.

 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face and said, "ENOUGH!"

 

Everyone froze. Steve looked at them all and said, "Don. Don't take offense from Anthony, please. Anthony, a proper apology is 'I'm sorry' and then be quiet. Bucky, stop getting in between two guys having a pissing contest, because all that happens is you get your shoes peed on. Anthony, proper apology."

 

"I'm sorry," Anthony said, then snapped his mouth closed at a look from Steve.

 

Steve nodded, then looked at Don.

 

"I accept your apology?" Don said.

 

"Good. Anthony, no more speculating on the status of anybody's relationships,because it is absolutely none of your business." Steve instructed.

 

"Got it, Captain Manners," Anthony returned smartly.

 

Steve gave him a sharp look, which Anthony innocently returned. 

 

Finally, Steve's face cracked into a grin, and the tension in the room seeped away.

 

"Jane, I am sorry," Anthony said.

 

She waved him off, "I know, Anthony. I am, too."  She looked at the espresso machine Anthony was standing next to, and asked, "Can you fix it?"

 

"Yes, I can."

 

Jane let out a whoosh of a air in relief. "I'm really very sorry I broke it."  She patted Don's arm and said, "Can I persuade you to join me in the back so we can have our breakfast?"

 

Don smiled at her and followed her to the back of the store, deliberately keeping his eyes away from Anthony.

 

Bucky watched them go, then looked at Anthony. Anthony shrugged and said, "Jane broke the espresso machine yesterday because she was too absorbed in Don to pay attention."  He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and used it to pop of the cover of the machine.  He pulled over a step stool and peered into the guts of the machine, talking all the while. "I mean, I can fix it, so it's no big deal, but it's the principle of the thing. I'm paying her to serve coffee to the customers, and she's thinking about astrophysics or fluid dynamics or something that's not coffee, and she breaks my machine. Or, actually, I'll bet she was showing Don how to make espresso and he broke the machine, because have you seen Jane? She's a little bit of a thing, lots of brains, but the brawn is totally missing, whereas Don's got more than his share of the brawn going on. Like I said, I can fix it, but should I have to? Where's the loyalty to your boss?" Anthony was working inside the machine the entire time he was talking, and pulled out the assemblage that steamed the milk. He hopped off the stool and went under the counter, bringing up a new assemblage and working on seating it properly.

 

Bucky's brain, lacking its usual caffeine, was meandering and he suddenly made a connection. Take away the scruff Anthony usually sported, put him in a really nice suit, and he'd be looking at Tony Stark, the missing billionaire genius owner of Stark Industries.  He must have made a sound, because Anthony looked at him sharply and a quick expression of fear crossed his face.

 

"What's up, Casino Royale?"

 

Bucky waved him off, saying, "For a moment, you reminded me of someone, but I think it's a delusion brought about by a severe lack of coffee in my life."

 

Anthony looked at him long enough that Steve picked up on the tension and shifted. Anthony broke out of his daze and looked at the espresso machine. "Well, I think I've got this baby fixed up, so you get to be my taste testers."  he closed the machine up, hopped down from the stool and folded it, tucking the screwdriver back into his pocket before washing his hands thoroughly and turning to make them lattes. He made Steve's first and handed it to him, and Steve went to set up their computers while Bucky waited for his drink.

 

Anthony handed it to him, and Bucky said, very quietly, "Thank you, Anthony."

 

Anthony gave him another of his piercing looks, and Bucky continued, "You've been a huge help to me, and I can't thank you enough for all that you done. Just know that I appreciate the helping hand," he flexed his prosthetic fingers, "and all the time and energy you've given me."

 

Anthony looked away and muttered, "I haven't really done anything special."

 

Bucky looked down at his cup of coffee and said, "That you can say that with a straight face tells me how little you value your contributions to the world. Trust me, you've done a lot special, and I'm grateful beyond words. Thank you." He looked up at Anthony, trying to make his eyes convey everything he couldn't say.

 

Anthony looked his direction again and gave a short nod, "You're welcome."

 

Bucky nodded back at him and went to join Steve. He would never give up Anthony's secret, even to Steve, because it wasn't his to share. If Anthony wanted to have his world revolve around a small neighborhood coffee shop, who was Bucky to tell him he was wrong? People did what they had to do to cope with the life they were living, and no one else had any right to tell them they were doing it wrong.

 

At the end of the day, Steve walked back with Bucky to his apartment and walked up with him. Once Bucky opened the door, he invited Steve in.

 

"Nah, I need to get back to my place," Steve told him, "But, Bucky?"

 

"Yeah, Steve?"

 

"I'm really glad you're okay." Steve pulled him into a hug, and Bucky clung, just a little bit, before letting Steve break the embrace and back away.

 

"Later?" Bucky whispered.

 

Steve grinned at him. "You bet. Can't get rid of me."

 

"I don't want to," Bucky told him, looking down at the floor, afraid to see what Steve looked like at his confession.

 

Steve slipped his fingers under Bucky's chin and gently raised his head until Bucky had to look at him.

 

"Good, because I don't want to lose you, either."

 

With that, Steve backed away, smiling at Bucky. Bucky couldn't help but return the smile.


	5. Epilogue

_Six months later._

 

Bucky shifted under the covers. It was still dark outside and would be for hours, but he'd woken up and his brain was working away, meaning he wouldn't get back to sleep anytime soon.  He debated getting up, but the apartment was not only dark, but cold, because the heat hadn't come on yet. He snuggled deeper under the blankets.

 

"Bucky?" Steve asked muzzily.

 

"Shush. I just woke up, but don't want to get up," Bucky whispered, shifting so he was spooning Steve.

 

"M'kay," Steve said, and let himself slip back into sleep. Bucky drowsed, his arm curled over Steve, letting his mind drift until Steve roused an hour or so later.

 

They got up, well used by now to working around each other after living together for the past couple of months, and prepared for the day. They were meeting at Sharp Pressed this morning with everyone that had been involved with Dark Line for an update on everything that was happening. Showers, toast, computers in messenger bags, kisses, and out the door. Bucky captured Steve's hand when they were on the sidewalk, and they walked together, fingers clasped in their gloves in the nippy morning air.

 

When they arrived, Clint was already there with a few of the small tables shoved together to make one large table in the back corner, leaving a space between them and everyone else that would come to the coffee shop. Jane was there and prepared their usual coffees. Don waved at them from the bike side of the shop, and Anthony poked his head out to say hi.

 

They were soon joined by Nick, Tasha, and their new boss, Phil, who had taken over running Shield for Nick.

 

"So, good morning," Tasha started.

 

Clint muttered something in his mug, but the rest returned her greeting.

 

"Yesterday, Alexander Pierce was acquitted in federal court. However, as a condition of his release, he can never work in publishing again. As you may remember, Jack Rollins was convicted of unlawful entry and eavesdropping, and on Friday his appeal was denied. His sentence will be only six months, plus two years probation. Bucky, we've filed a restraining order on your behalf."

 

"Thanks," Bucky told her sincerely.

 

"You're welcome. Now the big one. Rumlow was convicted of assault yesterday. He will appeal, of course, but the judge recommended five years. The restraining order also covers Rumlow. Basically, if either of those guys comes near you or Steve, let me know and I will personally nail them to a wall and leave them to bleed out," Tasha said.

 

Steve and Bucky exchanged a speaking glance and then nodded at Tasha. Her competence was something they admired, but her matter-of-fact threat of violence was something they both had no desire to delve into.

 

"Now, Nick, your updates," Tasha indicated Nick.

 

Nick took a sip of his coffee before speaking. "Clint will be leaving you boys. Sorry, but Tasha and I need him. Phil will find you a good colorist, but there's enough done you should be fine for the next month or so."

 

Phil cleared his throat and said, "I already have someone in mind, we have an interview tomorrow at eleven. I was hoping Steve and Bucky could be there, also, and we can see how everyone works together."

 

Bucky pulled out his phone to check his calendar and after a brief consultation with Steve and his calendar, they both nodded at Phil.

 

"Yeah, we can do that," Bucky said.

 

"Good. Other than that bit of news, Shield is doing well. Our headline title run is consistently selling at fourth or fifth place, and we've discussed adding another title to the lineup. It helps that Dark Line went bankrupt, and its forums were published online by Anonymous and thoroughly discussed by so many news outlets. It's rather made the rats scurry off the sinking ship, so to speak." Phil wrapped up his speech and folded his hands, looking over at Nick.

 

"Good work, people. Now, Barnes, Rogers, we are going to vanish for a little bit. Just a month or so, Phil will let you know when we're back. However, during that time," Nick pointed a finger at both of them in turn, "you've never heard of us, got it?"

 

Bucky nodded.  Steve grinned and cheekily asked, "Heard of who, sir?"

 

Nick cracked a grin and replied, "That's what I said. Later, gents."  He, Clint, and Tasha got up and walked out of the shop, not looking back.

 

Bucky and Steve had turned in their chairs to watch them go, then swiveled back to Phil, who smiled his professional smile at them.

 

"Shall we get back to work, gentlemen?" Phil asked.

 

Steve leaned over and gave Bucky a buss on the cheek, then replied to Phil, "Always, sir."

 

~~~~

 

After working on the comic for the rest of the afternoon, Bucky and Steve packed up and got ready to head home.

 

"You ready to save the world, figuratively speaking?" Bucky asked Steve.

 

"With you? I'm always ready." Steve replied, as hand-in-hand they walked together into the future.

 

~Finis

 


End file.
